Through The Looking Glass, You Rule Our World
by truglasgowgal
Summary: Two days after it goes to press that Chuck Bass is the richest man in the world, he and his wife disappear off the face of the earth. Will their children's arrival in the UES make those left behind realise what they've lost? CB. NS. CaS. NJBC and Eric.
1. The Day The World Went Away

This is something that came to me a wee while ago, but I was determined to flesh it out a bit before posting – and now I have, and completed my other fics (discounting the two WIPs obv ;) ) – I offer it to you :)

Hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Through The Looking Glass, You Rule Our World  
**Disclaimer:** I only own the characters that are not recognisable from the GG book/tv world  
**Summary:** Two days after it goes to press that Chuck Bass is the richest man in the world, he and his wife disappear off the face of the earth. Nearly twenty years after their parents left to set up home elsewhere, the Bass children arrive in New York to show face to a family no one has ever really known. Is it too late for all those left behind to make up for the time they have lost?

.

"_The shifts of Fortune test the reliability of friends."  
_Cicero

.

Chapter One: The Day the World Went Away

Serena arrives at the Bass home less than an hour after the first cars have pulled up outside the grand mahogany doors. She calls it that, but it hasn't really been one for years, if at all. It's more of a house that they just happen to stay in when they're in town, which is seldom ever in itself. In effect, it's little more than a hotel suite to the family.

"The children will not be arriving until later in the day, Ms. Van der Woodsen," the older, taller of the two men standing guard by the front steps informs her, and then he readdresses her, "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Baizen."

It's not a deliberate slip-up to humiliate her, it's just something that trips off the tongue; she knows better than anyone that old habits die hard. Except his accent tells of a life on a different continent from hers, and his face doesn't conjure any immediate recollection; it peaks her curiosity.

"How do you – ?" the question cuts short on her lips as he smiles at her.

"I've worked for the Bass family for many years, I've seen you come and go," he tells her. "Harris, maam."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you," she apologizes, and then in an instant exclaims, "I feel so awful, but you've certainly changed – look at you, Harris, you look wonderful!"

His slight dip of the head is his only acknowledgement of her compliment, polite and reserved.

"Considering the circumstances," she remarks, suddenly remembering whom she is talking to, where they are talking, and why exactly it is that she is talking to him and not his employers.

He nods sagely and lifts his eyes to meet hers as he reiterates her statement.

"I still can't believe you remembered me," she is fairly taken aback; but the flattery is still there.

"Quite some time has passed," he comments then with a small smile and opens the door for her to step fully inside.

It is like a tomb; relics of moments gone and people missed. There's a fresh smell in the air, however, and as she steps into the main reception room it is bathed in light, no dust to dance in the rays that streak past.

There's a maid placing frames on the mantle and she looks across to the images of her brother's children; the photos that stare back at her of her nieces and nephew with her best friend and her husband; and she nods.

She doesn't correct him, though they both know what he really meant to say.

_Too_ _much_ time has passed.

.

"Magda," her daughter says; the pet name that the younger still uses for her cousin sounds like the relief that floods into her lungs at the sight of the three before her.

Serena runs forward and envelopes the eldest in her arms before she can take another breath in, but the next time she does she inhales the old-familiar mixture of pomegranate and wild berry and she lets out a laugh that morphs into a sob. She's missed this.

"Oh, Lena," she utters into the girl's shoulder.

"Aunt Serena," the teenager greets her in turn, cautiously adjusting the child in her arms as she pulls away.

"Augie," the blonde says next, and after a moment the dark-haired boy takes a step forward and wraps his arms around her middle.

She holds him close and dips her head until it rest atop his, and then she kisses his hair.

He detangles himself and steps back to his original place; she holds out her arms for Vivian, and catches as her nephew stiffens slightly by his sisters' side.

"If you don't mind, Aunt Serena, we've just gotten her back to sleep," her eldest niece tells her, careful not to jostle the sleeping little girl in her hold.

She nods, because this is understandable; but she can't pretend she doesn't notice the deflation of her nephew's shoulders at her words, the way Lena had held her baby sister even closer when she'd made a move to take her. She recognizes it already; it's not distrust, just the need to keep things near.

Except it's affecting these children, when it should be the adults that shoulder the weight.

She suspects their anxiety will only further increase the longer their parents remain unaccounted for. After all, when the world as you know it has been seized from your grasp, you do everything you can to keep whatever's left from suffering the same fate.

.

He remembers Serena's words when she called him.

"The children are coming to New York, Nate. And I think – I think you should be there when they do."

Nothing else: no pleasantries, no further explanation. He supposes there wasn't much need for anything else to be said. He boarded a plane and that was that: arriving just in time, for once, to be there as the children arrived.

When he looks up and sees the female before him, he has to blink to adjust his sight. Long brown curls, ruby red lips; it's a reminder of a life that was once promised to him, but never came to be.

Serena has already embraced her, has stepped back to allow her – _their_ – daughter to do the same, as he continues to try to collect his thoughts. It's been years since he last saw her, years since he last saw any of his best friend's children. There are three of them now; last time he checked there was only two.

But the brunette has a little one held closely in her arms, the boy protectively near; and he's suddenly more than just modestly ashamed that he has to take that extra moment to try and remember the names their parents gave them.

It's all he needs to find himself again too. Her hair is darker than Blair's, darker even than Chuck's he thinks; eyes as blue as the Caribbean Sea, it triggers the memory of the earliest words his best friend bestowed upon him after the birth of his first child.

"_She's got my father's eyes."_

And she does.

They are so bright, so clear, so _familiar_; it makes his breath catch in his throat.

Her head spins round and he is suddenly met with the living embodiment of his best friend and his wife: their first-born, the heir to their fortune, their legacy.

"Uncle Nate." It is a male who speaks then.

Augustus.

He's surprised the boy remembers him, recognizes him, even. He's not so sure the years have been as kind to him as the others; years he's been trying to forget existed, if he's being truly honest, for once.

_Little Augie_.

There's always a certain tone that his best friend uses; it rolls off his tongue a specific way, whenever he speaks of his son. It's something Nate himself never thinks he quite manages with his own. He tries not to listen to anything that comes out of Carter's mouth; but he's more than a little sure the older man sounds too like his best friend for his taste.

There's more than one thing he's been avoiding for the past few years, and in his absence he's missed out on some of the best years of Chuck's. Family life agrees with his best friend; marriage, fatherhood: it fits him like the suits he has tailor-made, flown from London and Paris and Milan to… his home.

The home Nate has never frequented.

He wonders when he missed the memo that was supposed to tell him that Chuck was marriage material, father of the year; and he, he was the divorcee, the absent parent – twice over.

The little girl whom the eldest holds within her arms is the child he's never seen; but she has a face full of childlike innocence, even in sleep, when small curls fan like a dark halo around her head.

He doesn't know her name.

The way they hold themselves, however; the aura the three possess and project; it nearly makes him forget that mere hours ago their parents vanished from the world's view.

.

They take an hour to completely search his plane, clear it for take-off. He tells them that this delay is doing nothing to help him, but the man overseeing it all simply looks at him, face grave, and says, "After the children, you will be the most important person in these skies, Mr. van der Woodsen. We're not taking any chances."

They _can't_ take any chances; is what he knows the man really means.

The world's richest couple has disappeared from the face of the earth; they can't allow their family to follow.

He's been trying to find out anything he can from where he is: because having everyone situated in the one place at the same time, at _this_ time, isn't the best plan of action. It's the plan they're supposed to follow, however.

The children go to New York and he follows.

It seems simple enough, but it's effective.

Because if his brother and sister-in-law can vanish from their home in the middle of nowhere, then surely their children will be safe in one of the most densely populated cities in the world.

He picks up the phone that lies discarded on the seat next to him.

It feels like he's made too many calls of late, but he has this one on repeat; like the last words of someone who's died, a remembrance.

"Magdalena?" he says, swallows, and closes his eyes as he takes in a breath filled with relief when she confirms that she is there: alive and where she is supposed to be. "It's your Uncle Eric."

And after a moment, the air fills his lungs and he can exhale slow and easy, without having to prompt it of himself.

"Don't worry," he tells her.

He wonders why he bothers; they're wasted words.

He hopes to offer something with his next words, tries to draw something from it himself, as he assures her, "I'll be with you soon."

He hangs up moments later, without having to be asked to do so. He knows as well as she does how important it is to keep the line clear; they're still waiting on any news to be reported.

No news is not necessarily good news.

Not when you consider what has been lost.

**_TBC…_**

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A/N: This story will focus on the viewpoint of Eric, the NJBC (adult versions, obv ;) ) as well as their children – not always in equal parts.

Thanks so much for reading – please let me know what you think, it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	2. The World Changed Before I Knew It

A/N: C/B's eldest daughter is called Magdalena, but depending on the viewpoint I'm writing from, she will usually be referred to as 'Lena', sometimes 'Magda'. The same goes for their son Augustus and the nickname 'Augie', and their daughter 'Vivian' to the occasional 'Viv'. It makes more sense in the context, depending on who's 'speaking'.

* * *

Chapter Two: The World Changed Before I Knew It

His _Uncle Nate_ had suggested Cooper take him to play tennis at his club. He'd agreed, only because he knew it was less strain on his sister to have him around while she tried to make headway with the detectives and agents on their parents' disappearance.

He'd watched his older cousin stiffen slightly when Nate had used the term, _son_. He thinks it must be unnerving for Cooper to have him here. His own parents have barely been gone a full day (Eastern time) and already their presence is greatly missed. He imagines his Uncle's reappearance is as unsettling to some as his own parents' disappearance is to him.

.

He's present when the investigators announce that the Bass jet went off radar and has yet to be recovered. His sister is here too, along with his brother-in-law, and his _ex_-brother-in-law; he stands aside with his niece, and the divide couldn't be more apparent, at least in his eyes.

He'll call his mother after and inform her of the development that doesn't really offer them anything at all, but it's information all the same; and it's all they have just now. He'd do the same for Eleanor, but he knows she'll have her own line direct to the investigators. Their absence is only questioned by those that think their own presence should be a given in this situation. After the years of minimal contact and missed opportunities, he's not sure any of them have the right to think that.

Serena moves towards Lena when the man delivers the news, backed by his two associates. The nineteen-year-old waves her off and keeps her gaze on the men before her.

"So what you're telling me, gentlemen," Lena bites out instead, "Is that the plane carrying my parents has disappeared, and despite the million-dollar equipment and advanced technology at your disposal, you have yet to locate it?"

She shoots them all a cool look.

"I sincerely hope you're not the ones I'm supposed to pin all my expectations on," she remarks, without letting them respond.

And then she turns on her heel and walks out.

Mere minutes have passed when the teenager comes barreling back into the room demanding to know where her younger brother is.

Eric's eyes widen at this turn of events. "What do you mean? He's not here?"

One of the member's of security enters the room as Nate begins to get that familiar sheepish look on his face: even after all the time that has passed, his facial expressions have progressed about as far as his actions have.

"I asked Cooper to take him out," the older man explains.

"Where?" Lena all-but growls at him.

"To play tennis, at the club," his ex-brother-in-law replies, and then quickly continues, "I thought maybe it would take his mind off things, and it would give you a break from looking after him."

He has to give his niece credit; she doesn't look nearly as murderous as he knows she's likely feeling.

"They have security accompanying them," Nate hastens to further add.

Lena's cool gaze narrows on him. "My parents are currently _missing_ and you thought it would be a good idea to send my brother out with _your son_, and the barest of protection detail, to _play sports_ – in a city that he hardly knows, and without informing me first?"

"I – I – " he stammers as he tries to search for an answer; it proves her point for her.

"Harris!" she calls out to the Head of Security, eyes still on the elder before her. "I want the number of the man in charge of watching over my brother and I want a car to take me to him. Now!"

She doesn't say anything else towards the other, but turns to her uncle instead.

There's already a change in her demeanor and she says, "You won't mind if I take Viv with me?"

Eric reaches out a hand to her and rubs her arm, his lips curving slightly as he reassures her, "Keep them as close as you want, Lena."

She nods, smiles slightly in thanks and then leaves the room.

"That was a _really_ stupid thing to do, Nate," his sister rebukes her ex-husband almost the second Lena has stepped out from their space.

"Yes, thank you, I've already been told off by a – "

"She's nineteen, Nate," Eric offers quietly.

"I don't need it from you as well," Nate finishes.

He sends him the briefest of looks afterwards, which Eric supposes is the older man's way of acknowledging his input simply for what is was rather than any form of condescension or reprimand.

"I didn't realize how much trouble it would cause, alright?" the elder says next, eyes beseeching her to understand where he's coming from with this.

He's not sure his sister has much left in her to _understand_ Nate Archibald anymore.

"This whole thing, it's just caught me off-guard, ok?" the other man continues, "I guess I wasn't thinking – "

"Like a parent?" Serena finishes for him, confirming Eric's own thoughts on the matter. "Well, that's not exactly a new occurrence, now is it, _Nate_?"

"Serena," Carter speaks up then, and they share a look; it seems to dissolve much of the resentment that was just burning in his sister's eyes.

"There are bigger things going on here than your half-assed attempts at making anyone feel better, least of all yourself," his sister bites out, and there is no doubt that her words are directed at Nate.

And with that Serena turns and walks out the room.

Carter sends him a look, and Eric nods at his brother-in-law, before the elder follows the same path his sister took moments prior.

"She's right you know," he tells the other man after a few moments.

Nate opens his mouth to say something, but Eric cuts him off before he can give some other excuse that has no place here, especially not right now.

"I understand where you were coming from, but Nate, you have to understand as well; you don't know Lena or Augie or even Viv. You haven't seen Chuck or Blair in years, and even then you don't know how their children are, how they've been brought up," he tells the elder.

He stares at Nate, hard, as if willing him to listen to him; really listen to what he's saying.

"Lena is nineteen," Eric says again, this time with a different purpose. "Her parents have disappeared and she has been left alone in a different country with her younger brother and sister and no clue what has happened or even if she'll ever see Chuck and Blair again."

He releases a small sigh.

"She's trying to stay in control, Nate, and do what is best for her siblings; and you sending her brother off to play tennis without telling her is not helping," he explains further. "It's interfering in a world you haven't been part of since she was a child, and it's confusing, alright?"

He doesn't wait for the older man to nod, though he catches the slight movement as he continues.

"And we do not need more confusion right now," he tells Nate.

"I'm not even sure I'd have come if Serena hadn't called me and told me to," the other admits quietly after a few minutes of silence have passed between them. "Even then… "

The impact of these words isn't as great as he'd have once taken it to be. It's a truth they've all known for a while. Nate Archibald hasn't been a part of any of their lives for a long time. It's sad, and Eric would help change it if he thought it'd benefit the children; but he's not entirely sure it will. He can't say at their age he'd ever have thought he'd hold _Carter Baizen _in higher esteem than the van der Bilt heir, but the elder has been nothing but loyal to his sister; and he's been there, for her, for the children, when Nate hasn't. In Eric's experience, when given the choice, there's no contest of whom he'd rather have as father figure in their lives.

"We're all adjusting to being in one another's company again, Nate," Eric tries to placate him. "Just…"

He sighs again, trying not to create more waves when there's a chance for the tiniest section of calm in this chaotic world.

"Just try running it by someone else before you go chasing after what once was, alright?" he comments, giving Nate a small smile.

He can't help it, even after all that has happened, all that has been said and done; Eric van der Woodsen still tries to keep the peace.

It's what he's best at, after all, what he does. It's why his brother values him so much within his company; why Chuck consults him on nearly every project he undertakes. He excels at staying composed, being the voice of reason.

Except this is different. His brother and his wife have vanished, no one seems able to locate them; and amidst those left floundering in the wake of their disappearance, is the jumble of family ties that threatened to tear them all apart not so long ago.

This is turning out to be his biggest test yet; and failure is not an option.

.

"How are you doing?" he hears his sister ask.

He looks across to see her standing by the side of the court with Vivian in the pram in front of her and two other members of their security team behind her.

"I won," Augie tells her simply, with a smile.

"Well done," she awards him, and he knows she's being genuine; her praise for him is never anything less.

"Lena plays tennis," he turns to inform Cooper.

"Oh really?" the older boy's eyebrow rises along with his tone of voice.

In truth, although they've spent time together over the years, the younger doesn't think his cousin really knows _that much_ about their family: he's not alone, though, none of his parents' friends and their families seem to know much about them. Well, except his Uncle Eric, but that's different; Uncle Eric practically _lives_ with them.

"She was ranked in the European Juniors circuit for years," Augie expands.

"That so?" the teenager seems even more intrigued. "What ranking?"

"Does it matter?" Lena asks at that.

"Number one," Augie cuts in, beaming at the elder.

Cooper inclines his head and says with a slight smile, "Of course."

She rolls her eyes and he smirks proudly from beside her: when the Basses do something, they do it nothing less than flawlessly. Of course she was number one, what did his cousin take his sister for, a runner-up? Basses get the trophy, or nothing at all. They simply don't _do _consolation prizes. It just isn't in their nature to lose.

Lena takes the moment to snatch the racket from his hands and saunter past the two of them, calling out a minute later, "If you don't get your ass on the baseline within the next five seconds, Cooper, I'm going to ace you; and you'll be losing before you've even begun."

His sister flashes their cousin a smug smile and Augie comments, "She's not lying – she has a mean serve."

Watching the other boy scuttle across to the line makes her smile that bit more.

The time passes quickly and before either of them seems to realize it, they've played three sets and she's beaten him in every one. Admittedly, some points were closer than others, but Lena still won; and he thinks that's all that _really_ matters, obviously. He's kept their little sister occupied with his running commentary; which Cooper jokingly tried to put a stop to mid-way through with a nicely aimed ball to his wiry frame. Vivian was already asleep by that point, so she missed out on the added drama.

"Impressive," the other boy comments, as he jogs over to them both. "You still play then?"

Lena smirks lightly, shrugging one shoulder, "On occasion."

"I'd guess more than just intermittently considering I'm the best St. Jude's has, not to mention one of the best in the state," their cousin says to that.

"Once or twice a fortnight, if I have the time," his sister rephrases.

Cooper screws up his eyes as if trying to gauge whether she's telling him the truth or not.

"I think that just means I'm better than you," she remarks, and smirks at him.

The other boy scoffs at this and remarks, "You _used _to be ranked."

"In the world," Lena reminds him, with a sparkle in her eye. "I was the best a whole continent had to offer. You aren't even the leader in your state. I imagine the number of those beneath me is that bit greater than those that trail behind you."

.

When Eric hangs up the phone he turns to her and tells her that the children are returning.

Serena nods and takes a breath in, even and deep, before releasing it.

"How're you doing?" he asks after a moment, watching her the entire time.

She nods, her mouth shut, tries for a smile.

He frowns.

"I'm fine," she tells him.

His expression doesn't let up.

"This isn't about me, Eric," she says then. "It _shouldn't_ be about me."

"Oh, but it is," her brother tells her, and his lips spread out into a smile.

She meets his eyes and then looks away as she releases a small sigh.

"You invited him?" he says next, raising an eyebrow.

Serena shrugs, makes an attempt at casual. "He should be here."

"He shouldn't have to be _told_ to be here. The fact that you had to call him, for him to even _consider_ appearing is telling in itself," the younger continues.

"What do you want me to say, Eric?" she asks of him. "He's Chuck's best friend, he's their Godfather."

"And he's _your_ ex-husband, the father of _your _children," her brother counters quickly, effortlessly.

Sometimes she really hates it when he does that.

"Plus, he hasn't seen Chuck in years," Eric adds, casting a glance off to the side, raising a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't put it past him not to have known Vivian even existed the way he's taken to avoiding us all these days."

He doesn't add anything further; doesn't relate this to her own absence in their brother's life of late, though she knows it's there, knows it annoys him just as much, if not more. They're supposed to be a family, after all. But then, that was why the four of them had formed the Non-Judging Breakfast Club all that time ago, so they'd have a family that would be there for them no matter what.

She wonders if maybe it's time to let go of the past, when her brother breaks her from the reverie.

"How are the kids taking it?" he asks, and then clarifies, "I mean yours, obviously."

She shakes her head and draws her gaze back round to meet Eric's.

"Well, since his _father_ sent him off to play tennis, I've yet to hear from Cooper, though I've no doubt he'll have a few choice words to say on the matter," she replies, taking a deep breath and shaking out her hair. "And Hadley is pretending it doesn't affect her in the slightest and has said she'll be round tomorrow since she promised Carter she'd go with him to take Atlas to the park and then to the toy store today."

Her brother only raises an eyebrow at this information, and she can't even read the meaning of that.

"So, all in all, I think they're about to either fall apart at the seams or completely blow up at him," she concludes.

"And you and Carter?" Eric asks then. "How are you two doing now that Nate's reared his rather dashing looking head once more?"

Her lips fall into a smile at his words, and she sends him a grateful look.

"Carter's been amazing," she says; and she means it, because he really has.

She doesn't know how she'd do it if it wasn't for him; knows from past experiences that she likely _couldn't_ do it without him.

"And we're doing ok," she tells him; because they are, and she's determined to make sure it stays that way.

She turns to face her brother.

"Which leaves us with you," she addresses Eric fully; eyes on his, never wavering. "How are you coping with all this?"

"You want the God's honest truth?" he asks, head titled to look up at her.

She nods. "Of course," she replies easily; but the realization of what this could actually mean lies heavily on her heart already.

"I'm scared," he admits. "I'm scared we'll never find them and the kids will have to go on with their lives never knowing what happened. I'm scared that we do find them, but something terrible has happened; that nothing will ever be the same again."

His eyes shine with unshed tears.

"I'm scared I'll never see my brother or his wife again," he tells her.

She takes a step towards him, reaches for him, but he takes a step back; wipes at his face, rids himself of anything that might suggest he is functioning any other way but completely effectively.

"I can't, Serena," he tells her.

He raises his head to meet her eyes.

"It can't all fall to Lena, it's not fair on her," he says. "And I won't let her shoulder this alone."

"That's what we're all here for, Eric," she replies, trying to give him a look that will reassure him of their presence. "We want to help, in any way we can."

"And that's great, Serena, it really is," he responds.

She knows he means it, but it's not all he feels.

"But you haven't been there during the times when they _didn't_ need you," he explains; telling her what she already knows, what the past and the people who lived through it can attest to. "And they need to be reminded that not everything has changed; that some things are still the same."

He releases a shallow breath.

"Lena wants normalcy for them," he expands, as if to brace her for any further outbursts from the teenager by explaining the reasoning. "Viv's too young to understand, but Augie is old enough to know what's going on. He's just a boy, Serena, he doesn't need the worry of wondering if he'll ever see his parents again."

He swallows, and his eyes shine brighter; which only means he's suffering more inside than he's willing to show the world. More than he's wiling to show her.

"I need to be strong for them," Eric tells her, and he's unyielding, and it breaks her heart to see her brother grasping at life like this. "If only to offer them the smallest semblance of hope that things will go back to the way they once were."

.

"Why did you stop?" His question nearly causes her to halt; he catches the falter in her step.

"Stop what?" Magdalena asks, her eyes still on the pair ahead, accompanied by two members of her security team: a body for a body.

He honestly doesn't think he's ever had so many people swarm him at one time for his _safety_ before; at least, not when he wasn't at some political event for his father, but the last time he attended one of those was _years_ ago. This is life for them.

This is what power and money produces, a fear that at any moment you could just vanish, disappear into nothing without so much as a trace left behind.

It's a completely sobering thought that despite all they've done, despite all they continue to do, they still aren't safe.

Their parents' absence is proof enough of this fact.

"Tennis. Why did you stop playing – competing – whatever?" Cooper asks, trying to rid his mind of the paranoia that is slowly starting to overcome him.

He tilts his head and surveys Magdalena as they walk together; he wonders how she does it. He's not sure he could live like that, like _this_.

She pauses and then replies easily, "Because I made a choice."

She shrugs lightly.

"Because I realized there are more important things in my life than the game," she tells him, as if it's really that simple.

Her eyes are on her brother as he pushes their baby sister's pram and he can't help but be intrigued. He wouldn't put it past her to have given up her sporting achievements because of him. As if it isn't apparent enough already, he thinks maybe he's beginning to understand this idea that she's willing to do anything, to give up everything, for her family.

It makes him wonder if the reason her parents are not around is because they did just that.

.

"Was that ok?" Augie asks his sister when they step back inside the house.

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" Lena replies easily, instantly, but something flickers in her eyes that the younger can't quite make out.

"Because you keep looking at the time," he says, still watching her.

She stops and turns to face him. "I just hadn't realized how late it was, that was all."

"Oh," he voices.

He tries to read her, but he's not his father and moments like these are difficult.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks then.

"What? No." His sister turns back to look at him. "No, Aug, why would you say that?"

"Because you're acting strange, and I can't think of anything that's happened apart from us going to the tennis club that would have made you so."

And then it hits him.

"Is it mum and dad; is something wrong? Have they found them? Where are they? What do they know?" he hastily inquires.

The questions come fast and hard, and he watches the veil come down over his sister's face as she lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him gently, "There's nothing you can do about it by worrying yourself like that. I will let you know when I know something."

She squeezes his shoulder encouragingly.

"For now, you can keep on playing tennis or whatever – beating Cooper and I've no doubt Hadley too, and then anyone else who tries to cross you – and just leave all that silly worrying to me, alright?" Lena says, watching him carefully.

He doesn't really like this idea, but he doesn't dispute it; no one ever really argues with his sister.

"Just make sure you tell me where you're going, alright?" she requests, her eyes searching his like she's looking for something in particular.

He nods, because he suddenly understands. His mum hated when he ran off and didn't at least leave her a note telling her where he'd gone (and he knows it wasn't just having to ask the staff of his location that fueled the stern look she gave him every time he returned). His sister is acting the role of parent right now, and it affects her in much the same way as it did his mum. He inwardly berates himself because he thought he was helping her, but he realizes now that it probably gave her more things to worry about. He vows to try to minimize this from now on.

She's smiling. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, and he's more than a little certain that it's more for his benefit than anything else, but it's a start at least.

He lets her lead her up the stairs to the room he's been staying in since they arrived. And after she's tucked their baby sister in the room along the corridor and he's heard her specifically instruct two of the maids to stay with the child (though he knows there's security placed at each end of the hall that are on full alert) she returns to find him already under the covers.

She sits on the edge of his bed, and he closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

He doesn't move, even when she reaches out and brushes the hair from his eyes, her fingers lingering that moment longer. Nor does he stir when she tucks him in, or when she makes sure he's covered with the blanket to avoid a chill in the night.

She leans forward and kisses his forehead, murmuring, "Goodnight, my little soldier," and still he does not move.

When the door clicks shut he feels the tears spring hot in his eyes and he gasps in a breath, the sob escaping before he can catch it.

He hates that he pretends, but he can't bear to look in his sister's eyes as she performs a routine that their mother usually does.

It's barely been two days and already he's finding it impossible to live with. He can only imagine how his sister feels: trying to live the life of three people to keep the five of them alive.

But this is what it means to be a family: so he will continue to pretend, as will his sister; and hopefully, soon, there will be no more need of their pretence. Hopefully, soon, their parents will have returned and they can go back to being children in this adult world.

He lifts his hands from under the covers and clasps them together, closes his eyes tightly and starts to pray.

_Dear God_, he says: in his heart, in his mind.

_Please bring my mum and dad back to me. Please let them be ok. Please help my sister look after us until they return. Please help me be strong._

_Please…_

.

**TBC**

* * *

A/N: the dynamic between all the children will be explained in the next few chapters – there are reasons why they don't know much about each other, and there's also a reason why Cooper didn't recognise that Lena played tennis and was ranked. It might be more easily understood when the relationship between the parents is further explained  
I used the GG world spelling of Nate's family name, 'cos I don't wanna get sued either ;)  
Also, the spelling in the last part is deliberate – the Bass children have never lived in America, so the only Americanisms they adopt are the ones their parents use; and that doesn't extend to the terms they use for their parents.

Thanks so much for reading – please let me know what you think, it really means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. I Can Feel The World Coming Apart

A/N: The spelling is deliberate – the Bass children have never lived in America, so the only Americanisms they adopt are the ones their parents use; and that doesn't extend to the terms they use for their parents.

Also, views/opinions of certain characters may vary depending on the p.o.v of the part that it is written in.

* * *

Chapter Three: I Can Feel The World Coming Apart

"Do you miss her?" he asks the older boy, when the silence threatens to engulf him, and the stagnant air threatens to choke the very breath from his lungs.

"Who?" Cooper asks, flicking another page of his magazine.

"Your Mum," he says. "Vanessa. Do you miss her?"

His older cousin raises his head after a moment, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. "She died when I was too young to remember her."

"But do you miss her?" Augustus presses.

"I guess," Cooper finally relents, and then he shrugs, tries to act casual when the subject matter likely has him in knots. The younger has been around those older than him long enough to know when someone is acting out a role in place of how they truly feel, and his cousin really isn't _that _good at masking his emotions. "I mean, as much as anyone can miss something they've never really experienced."

"And you have Aunt Serena," he remarks.

"And I have Serena," the elder agrees.

"Why don't you call her Mum?" Augustus asks then, his head tilted to the side as he watches his older cousin closely.

"Because she's not my Mom," Cooper responds, as if it's what he's been telling people his whole life; as if it co-exists with his explanation that his all-year-round tanned skin is a result of genetics on his mother's side and not all the holidays to tropical isles that he takes with his family. "My Mom died before I'd even turned four, Serena just adopted me."

"Like my Dad and Grandma Lily," he connects the two.

The elder raises an eyebrow at him and with a curve of the lips, comments in a half chastising-half humoring tone, "Not quite."

"Quite," Augustus replies simply, fitting the older boy with a look.

He's not sure if it's just that Cooper isn't aware of the connection, or if it's that he simply isn't willing to equate it to his own situation.

"Dad's Mum died after he was born so Grandpa Bart married Grandma Lily, and then she adopted Dad after Grandpa Bart died," he expands.

Sometimes he wonders why it seems like he's the only one that can make sense of the tangled lives other people appear to live, and he's _twelve_. Aren't people supposed to get smarter as they get older?

"Aunt Serena adopted you after she married your Dad," Augustus finishes, as if the parallels between the two couldn't be more obvious.

"It was after the divorce papers were signed, sealed, delivered, actually," Cooper tells him, almost smarmily.

"Well Grandpa Bart was dead for ages before Grandma Lily adopted Dad," he answers. "So really, it's the same thing."

"It's not, alright, Augustus? And could you just drop it, please," the older boy grinds out, his jaw tense, a hard look in his eyes.

He freezes at the tone, gaze locking onto his cousin's, and the moments tick slowly by.

"You know you act like you don't have a family, and that it's so terrible because your Mum died and your Dad left you, and you have to live with Aunt Serena," he says then.

The elder merely glances over at him, his lack of response all the sign Augustus needs to tell him he wants to hear where the younger is going with this.

"When really, you're lucky," he tells his cousin; because it's not just how he sees it, it's how it is. "Because Aunt Serena wanted to have you as part of her family, and Hadley treats you the same as she does Atlas, and so what if you have only one parent in common; Carter cares for you all equally too."

Cooper still has that scornful look on his face.

"Isn't that enough?" Augustus asks him.

Silence is all the response he receives.

He can tell his cousin is in a foul mood, but he doesn't care. So what if he's _only_ twelve? So what if they think he's _just_ a kid? His parents have disappeared and they could be dead for all anyone appears to know; and he's surrounded by people who seem to be so wrapped up in his Uncle Nate's reappearance and what that means to _them_, that they can't notice his sister shouldering the impact of _his parents' dis_appearance so they don't have to.

He wishes they'd stayed at home, because even if his parents weren't there, he'd at least be bordered by the things they loved most; he'd at least be able to look around him and know that the people staring back at him were feeling what he was.

"The problem with all of you is that you'll never be satisfied with what you have, you'll always want more," Augustus tells his cousin, and he can hear the contempt in his own voice as he does so.

It makes him resent this place that bit more for turning him into something he's not; something he's never wanted to be; something his parents have tried so desperately to stop happening.

He doesn't care how hypocritical it might sound. He doesn't care if his father owns half of the world or not. He doesn't care if his mother is the boss of whole cities of people. He doesn't care if his family is the richest in the world.

They've attained greatness, sure, but they've always known that if they were to lose it all, the wealth, the status; it could never compare to how they would feel if they didn't have the ones standing next to them.

It's how they've been brought up, he and his sisters. They've been taught their whole lives to value love and family above all else; and they have, they do.

He wonders now if maybe that's why his parents have sheltered them so: because anything outside of the promising world in which they've been raised could only ever fall short.

He's never wanted to go back there more than in this very moment.

"I could quite easily hate you," Augustus states then. "I could quite easily hate you all."

And at that, he stands and leaves; the atrocious sound of wood scraping across tile all that remains in the wake of his absence.

.

Hadley sees the figure stalk past the open doorway, waits for the slam of the door and releases a confused sigh when it doesn't come. Her older brother throws bigger temper tantrums and he's six years older than Augie; she's grown adept at recognizing the telltale signs.

She watches her older cousin look up as her little brother's shadow disappears, follows the frown that creases the brunette's forehead to her lips as they set in a red line.

"I'll be back in a few," the elder tells her and stands, lifting her little sister up as she does so, in a single fluid motion.

Hadley can't help but envy her cousin; she's always made being graceful look so effortless. Even now, in the midst of chaos, there is a calm about her that surpasses anything else.

"Don't you think you should leave him alone for a bit, Mags?" she suggests, rising to face the other girl.

Her cousin turns her frown across to her, and Hadley isn't sure if it's because of the nickname she's just used or because she's said something else wrong. She's always thought that the difference between her cousin's family and her own was in the big things, but she's starting to realize now more than ever, that it might just be the little things that set them apart.

The elder looks set to say something, and then seems to think better of it, instead giving Hadley a small smile before ducking out the door with Viv nestled neatly in her arms.

She tries to resist the urge, but in the end she finds herself standing in the corridor, shielded from view outside her younger cousin's door, trying to catch snippets of their conversation; she can't help it, she's never exactly been one for self-control. She passes it off as hereditary and dismisses the thought just as easily.

"I don't want to be here," Augie proclaims.

"What happened?" Magda asks calmly in return.

"They don't get it, Lane," he tells her. "Everything's all woe-me, Uncle Nate's back, what are we going to do?"

"Come on, Aug, you know that's not true," the brunette tries to gently placate him. "They're just trying to deal with everything all at once."

"Yeah, but – "

Magda cuts off his protests: "They're just not as good as mum and dad at multitasking."

"No," Augie agrees sullenly. "They're definitely not."

The brunette chuckles lightly then; and it makes Hadley wonder if the years have matured her cousin's laughter as well as her age.

"Well, we can't all be the wonderful Basses, now can we?" the elder comments, amusement lilting her words.

"You know the world would be a better place if everyone just followed our lead, right?" Augie voice brightens as his face does. "I mean, think about it. We're super smart, we _always_ know what we're talking about and we have charm to boot. Who could resist that?"

"Who indeed, Aug?" his sister agrees.

She wraps her arms around her little brother, pulling him towards her.

And then Magda smiles over his head and asks, "Shall we let Hadley in now?"

She sees Augie nod, his lips curved noticeably higher than his sister's, and then he calls out, "You can come in now, Hadley!"

The blonde pushes open the door and huffs out a petulant sigh that betrays the part of her upbringing that ages slower in her part of the world. "How do you _always_ know I'm there?"

Magda just smiles at her, and then tells her, "You're not nearly as subtle as you like to think."

Hadley flops down on the bed next to the trio, and reaches out her hands to her baby cousin who grabs at them eagerly.

"I should apologize to Cooper," Augie says after a few moments, and she feels the bed shift slightly beneath her.

"Why?" she asks, at the mention of her brother's name, and looks up at her cousin.

"I told him he was self-centered and should be grateful for the family he has," the younger replies, and then ducks his head in the slightest of movements as a barely-sheepish smile crosses his lips. "Among other things."

Hadley bursts out laughing. "Good!" she exclaims at that. "He should hear it from someone else. His moods range from sullen to crabby and have done for as long as I can remember. Probably from when he was two or three or whenever I was born to ruin his life further!"

She still has the giggles as she explains it, and it feels oddly _nice_ to have to tell her cousins' something, for once; normally they're far too intuitive and knowledgeable on the matter already.

"I swear, I'm not even sixteen yet and I act more like a practically-eighteen-year-old than he does!" she says, and then shakes her head. "It's ridiculous!"

The blonde feels their eyes on her, and can't help but enjoy the attention somewhat; no matter how small or fleeting.

"He's like a two-year-old with the tantrums he throws," she continues. "Actually, scratch that – Viv's better behaved than him."

"She's not reached there yet," Augie mentions with a smile. "Though I suspect she won't be quite the tantrum-throwing two-year-old when she does."

"Because she's normal!" Hadley says, laughing. "Seriously, Cooper just takes everything too seriously, too personally, I don't know."

She's waves her hand around airily as she halfheartedly tries to explain why her brother is the way he is.

"I mean, if Dad says he'll come to something and doesn't, he gets upset. Or if it's some anniversary of something that happened or they did together, and Dad doesn't call or anything, he gets upset. And I don't understand it because he calls him _Nate_ half the time, and that's when he'll actually _mention_ him, and besides, Dad's not come to something of either of ours for _ages, _nevermind actually acknowledged that we're his children!"

Magda's face is blank, but Augie's looks concerned; she's not sure which should trouble her more.

"Don't worry about it, Augie," Hadley says to the younger, her smile barely faltering. "I mean, we've got Carter – and he's _brilliant_."

She doesn't enjoy this attention so much; she'd much prefer if they went back to how they were a few minutes ago. Though she suspects she's not the only one wishing for some version of time travel right about now.

"Like actually," she goes on, hoping Augie will drop that expression and Magda will adopt one. "He's so fun, and you should see him with Atlas."

Her older cousin jumps on that, inquiring, "How is Atlas? Aunt Serena mentioned something about him having to go back to the doctor's last time she called, and then we didn't hear from her after that."

It's the blonde's turn to look mildly embarrassed. Her mother has been flaky for as long as she can recall, and probably well before then; another trait she's inherited, though she doesn't think she's nearly at the level the elder is.

"Yeah, he's fine," she tells them, and watches Magda nod; looking a little more relaxed with these words.

It clicks when Hadley thinks it over; her older cousin is like her Aunt Blair, always concerned about others. Worried over their health, though, she can understand, especially with what happened with Augie.

"He just has all these allergies apparently, so you gotta monitor what he eats or what sort of stuff he's messing around with. Nothing the maids and chefs can't handle," Hadley states casually.

"Of course," Lena smiles back at her, but it looks a little strained.

"Anyway," the blonde announces, when she begins to sense something fill the air between them. "I hear your grandparents are coming, that's gotta be a good thing, right?"

"Grandma can be a bit… controlling," Augie clues her in.

"Demanding," Magda adds.

"Loop-loop!" Viv cries out, little hands on her head.

Her cousins laugh at the younger's actions, and she does too, and then Magda swoops down and pulls her sister into her, as she says in a faux stern voice, "What have we told you about saying that about Grandma, missy?"

The little girl just continues to smile innocently up at her older sister.

"You know what that means, Lane," Augie joins in, face grave. "Tickle time!"

And as the two proceed to tickle their little sister mercilessly, Hadley finds tears suddenly springing unexpectedly to her eyes. She's so shocked that she flees the room with the realization.

Her older cousin is by her side in the corridor mere moments later and the fact that she immediately followed the blonde shouldn't exactly be a revelation either; her older cousin's always looked out for her own above anyone else.

"Tell me what it is, exactly, that you're thinking right this instant," Magda says: she already knows something's wrong, so she skips the unnecessary part; it's the way she's always operated.

And because her eyes are beseeching her so – she once heard her Aunt Blair tell her mother that Magda got her Grandpa Bart's eyes, and they were completely hypnotic (she doesn't think she'd have liked to meet her cousin's Grandpa Bart, if he was as persuasive as his granddaughter could be) – she tells the elder exactly what it is she's thinking right this instant.

"I'm jealous," she says, and then suddenly throws a hand up to her mouth to stop herself from speaking any further.

Magda gently eases it away.

"You all get along so well and you're just so perfect – even when something so awful has happened to you," the blonde tries to explain, as she lets loose another wave of tears. "And I'm jealous of that, which is terrible; because your parents aren't here, and no-one knows what's happened to them, especially now that wreckage of the plane has been found; I mean, they could be anywhere or even – "

"That's enough, Hadley!" the sudden, firm words from her cousin cut her off.

She looks over to see Augie standing in the doorway with Viv in his arms. His face is a mix of emotions and she suddenly realizes just how young her cousin is: not even a teenager yet, and the little girl in his arms: no more than a baby. This isn't fair on them. She catches sight of Lena in her periphery, and rephrases the thought in her head, because it's not fair on any of them. She wonders if her mother worries more for the younger two than for their older sister; it's natural, of course, but that doesn't make it right.

She knows full well that both she and her brother react differently to their father's actions – or _in_actions, as the case usually tends to be. Just because he's had a couple of years more experience, doesn't mean it hurts Cooper more; or just because she is still in that tender, influential age, doesn't mean it hurts her more; it just doesn't always strike the same chord within them.

And it's good that it doesn't affect them all in equal measures, by the same means, but it doesn't do well for others to forget that they are all involved in it. It's one of the reasons she thinks her presence might be that bit more welcome than her mother's, than anyone else in her own immediate family, or rather by anyone out-with theirs, not including their Uncle Eric. She knows the importance of acknowledging them all as their own person; she might not always understand how or why exactly someone reacts in the way they do compared with another, but she can accept that they do.

Both hands fly up to slap across her mouth and Hadley shakes her head, mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!"

Viv is struggling in the younger boy's grasp, reaching out for her big sister, but Magda seems frozen on his reaction.

A beat passes and the moment is broken when her mother calls up the stairs to announce the arrival of her cousins' grandparents.

Magda calls her brother's name twice before his eyes snap over to her, and Hadley opens her mouth, releasing her hands, to suggest that maybe the elder carry their little sister; but Viv's already stopped struggling and the trio have started to move away; and who is she to comment on the Bass family and how they conduct their lives anyway?

Not when her own family is such a mess in its complete, lively state and theirs is a perfectly functioning jigsaw even with two key pieces on the brink of becoming permanently missing.

.

Nate stands back when Eleanor enters, Cyrus close behind; tries not to shirk back at the cool gaze she casts him as she surveys them all and looks for the presence of the three she's come to see in place of five.

Serena moves forward to greet the elder. "Eleanor!" she smiles, tries to play hostess in a house that isn't her own. "How was – "

She doesn't get very far.

"Let's cut the pleasantries, Serena," the elder cuts her down. "Where are the children?"

"They're upstairs," the blonde replies. "I'll just call them for you."

"You do that," the older woman says with a thin smile.

Apparently age has not changed the Waldorf that resided for so many years in the female before him.

As they wait for the children to emerge, the interrogation begins: questions coming quick and sharp.

"So the children are staying here, are they?" Eleanor asks. "And you're staying with them?"

There's a perfectly styled eyebrow raised to accompany the inquiry.

"Are your family residing here also?" is her next question, and her gaze flitters from him to Serena.

"No," the blonde replies when she's finally allowed to get a word in, and Nate follows the curve of her neck as she swallows, takes another breath in. "Carter's at home with Atlas, my youngest; and Cooper and Hadley stay there too, though they're here at the moment to be with their cousins."

"Of course," Eleanor responds tightly.

"But I'm staying here, and so is Eric," Serena adds, her voice lifting as she tries to appease the elder as much as she can given the situation.

"Well, at least that's something," the older woman says to her husband.

Cyrus nods, tries not to make waves with the woman whose daughter has gone missing, recognizes there's a time and place and this is certainly not it.

"And where is Eric?" she asks then, scanning their group and beyond in search of the younger male.

"Europe, maam." It is a member of security who steps forward with this information.

"Harris," Eleanor acknowledges, nodding at the man before her.

"He wanted to meet with the crash investigators in person," the man, _Harris_, explains; even though she's not spoken a word of inquiry down that route. "To impart the urgency of their continued findings and ensure the family is first-in-line when any discoveries are made."

"And has he found anything?" is her brisk response.

"I'm assured of his phone call the minute he does," he tells her. "However, he did say he would call you personally to fill you in on any developments on his end; as well as to relay the report to you."

"Of course he did," Eleanor answers, turning away from the man as she speaks so it appears like she's addressing the rest with her next words. "That boy's reliable."

Nate ducks his head, and stifles a cough, because he doesn't want to have to look into the elder's eyes and see the disappointment reigning supreme. When he does finally raise his gaze, however, he finds she merely casts a glance his way; it seems like a mixture of suspicion and disapproval. He's not entirely sure he can blame her, although the look she gives Serena is not completely dissimilar to his own; however, he imagines the fundamental reasoning to be significantly different.

"Grandma," Lena's voice joins them, and the girl steps forward to embrace the elder.

And there is no other word for it: Eleanor _melts_ in her granddaughter's arms.

"My beautiful Magdalena," the older woman breathes into her dark hair; an act not wholly different from Serena's when she first greeted the teenager.

Cyrus has moved closer to take the youngest from the boy, and he holds her close into his chest; rocking the child as her sister steps back to allow little Augie to be swallowed up by his grandmother's embrace.

Without another word Lena turns and begins to move towards the front room, her grandmother and her brother right behind her. When Cyrus steps forward also, Nate notices Serena's eyes lingering on the little girl still held in the elder's arms.

He hangs back just near the doorway, Serena a couple of steps inside the room. He knows she feels just like he does at the moment, like they're intruding on a personal moment, a _family _moment.

Lena has taken her sister from Cyrus and is sitting on the couch next to Eleanor; the elder's hand on the teenager's shoulder in a move that speaks volumes of support and solidarity.

Cyrus is sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, Augie a few steps away, pausing noticeably for a moment before carefully maneuvering the older man's book onto the table amongst the photo frames that sit neatly in their places.

"Ah, now that's my favorite one," the elder exclaims then. "It's always been my favorite."

His arm is aloft; finger pointing to one photo amongst many that he considers to somehow outranks the rest.

"Such a beautiful photograph," Cyrus marvels at the image to which he's gesturing: Chuck and Blair, and their three children; all looking content, settled. It is one of many.

Everyone seems to have followed the elder's gaze, but it is Augie who reacts first. He reaches Cyrus in a matter of seconds, falling into him and throwing his arms around him. He looks younger folded up in Cyrus's embrace, the old man holding him close; Nate feels his chest ache as he watches the boy and wonders if it's the sight before him that's getting to him or the lack of memories he has to compare it to.

"Oh, my dear boy," Cyrus says softly. "Everything will be alright, you'll see. Everything will work out."

And Nate finds himself wishing for nothing more than this to be true.

Serena steps back, and he follows by instinct; she shuts the door behind them and leaves the family alone.

He idly wonders if that's been their problem all along. They've left Chuck and Blair to it, and by consequence, their place in this world has been replaced by those who sought to stay where others didn't.

.

"Harris."

The male voice is one she doesn't recognize, can't place. It unsettles her more than it should; she's had mere days to (re)acquaint herself with these people, and yet there is an individual speaking to one of the most prominent members of her brother's protection detail, walking the same floors she does, and she couldn't even put a name or a face to the voice she is hearing just now.

"They upstairs?" the man asks a few moments later.

"She's in the master bedroom," is the Head of Security's answer.

Serena hears the footsteps as they ascend the staircase, sees his shadow chase across the walls.

Silences reigns supreme in the moments that follow and when she exits the room and creeps up the stairs; she sees a figure along the hallway, standing outside her niece's room, gently nudging the door open until he can look through the gap at the occupant inside.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demands instantly.

"Woah!" he turns round.

He's holding his hands up in defense, though there's a touch of something, almost mockery, about it that she can't quite put her finger on. She hates this feeling of unease that she's had lately, like it's a constant reminder that her own failings in regards to her brother's family are to blame; that if they didn't exist, she'd feel more secure in herself, feel more at home in their home.

"Anders Linderoth," he says, dropping the stance and taking a step towards her; highlighting his tall figure even more, light reflecting off his dirty-blonde hair to give her a better view of his profile. "And would you keep your voice down? Lena's a light sleeper at the best of times, never mind when her mind's working overtime."

"You never answered my question," Serena tells him in a hushed voice. "Who _are_ you, and what are you doing here?"

"I'm making sure she's alright, that they're alright. Well, for now, at least." His head is tilted slightly to the side as he speaks, as if in consideration of his words. "And I'm… a friend. Family, maybe, once upon a time."

She screws up her eyes to try and best gauge him in darkness.

"Look, I just wanted to make sure they're ok," he says again. "I'll go, just – just give me a minute, yes?"

She's traveled enough, spent enough time in that part of the world, to recognize the Scandinavian in him.

"Where are you from?" she questions then, eyes squinting in the limited portion of available light once more.

"Sweden, originally," he replies easily, eyes already back on the sight they came for.

She nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Are you going to stand and hover around me, or are you going to give me the courtesy of the moment I asked for?" he inquires then, turning his head to raise an eyebrow at her and fit her with his cool blue gaze.

"I give you a minute alone and then you leave?" she returns, wanting the confirmation, even if she has no plans to actually leave him alone there.

"That's what I said wasn't it?" he replies, sounding more than a little irritated, though she could care less really.

Who was he to turn up at a midnight hour and act like his presence shouldn't be anything startling?

Who was he to make any demand of her in her brother's home, with her best friend's children lying asleep mere feet away?

Family, apparently: maybe; once upon a time.

She thinks they could probably all share that sentiment; the real tragedy is, hardly any of them have done anything to deserve it.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: I know it's probably not that important, but just a note to explain my continual shift in names/nicknames.  
Cooper isn't entirely comfortable with his 'cousins' and so uses their full names, which is what Augustus does when he's in the company of those he's not very close with – because he feels it is the name his parents gave him, and only those close to him call him by Augie.  
Nate, by contrast, refers to the children by their nicknames or rather impersonally, because he doesn't exactly know them very well (at least, not anymore) and so follows the lead of others, such as Serena; or more especially, Eric, whose place he should _really_ be in, in terms of how close he is to Chuck and his family because of the history he feels they've shared.  
Hadley and Serena both use the pet names because they are of the notion that time may have passed, but they're all still the same people – not necessarily true, but… ;)

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing – please let me know that you think!  
Steph  
xxx


	4. The World Is Too Big To Face Alone

Hi there!  
Apologies for the delay in getting this update to you, but uni/work/general life has been crazy. Hopefully, I'll have another chapter up shortly.  
Enjoy…

A/N: as always, bold is for memories/flashbacks

* * *

Chapter Four: The World Is Too Big To Face Alone

"Please, Serena," his voice is low, pleading, as his hands move slowly across the cashmere covering her arms. "Just tonight; just one night."

She's more sensible than she thinks anyone could've ever predicted her of being, more responsible too. She's the adult they never thought she'd live to be; the mother her own never was.

She's not her mother; the woman taught her everything she never wanted to be, and her grandmother filled in the gaps she left behind.

And so because she knows it'll complicate things further than they already are; and because she's responsible, sensible, an _adult_: she says no.

She's in a relationship; she's settled. Nate is… a friend; they have a history, a lifetime of past mistakes and moments of impulsiveness that she doubts will ever resolve themselves: but doing this, _friends_ or otherwise, will not help them get there any quicker or easier. She knows this; and so she says no.

"Go home, Nate," she tells him.

She doesn't spare a thought to the fact that his _home_ is most likely a hotel suite in one of the few that _isn't_ owned by her brother, or maybe it's in one of the many that is; Nate always did embody irony well.

She watches him go and breathes a sigh of relief. She can't help but think that life was less complicated when he wasn't around: no matter how many arguments, headaches or heartache he may have caused in his absence.

Flopping down on the sofa, her eyes fall on the display before her. All the images of her best friend and her stepbrother that show their life exactly as it would've seemed to others, exactly as it was: perfect.

And then her gaze focuses in on the picture of Chuck and Blair with the children, sans Viv due to the timing, standing in front of their gorgeous home, all smiles.

It's the ancient castle that Blair first laid eyes on during one of their trips over the water, the one she'd instantly fallen in love with. And with their decision to relocate to the UK for the advantages it offered them medically in terms of Augie's sight; it seemed the perfect choice for a home. She can still remember her best friend's excited voice when she'd phoned to all but squeal down the line that Chuck had purchased it for her, along with forwarding her proposals for renovation to all the relevant boards so they could gain planning permission and she could start on the 'project' practically as soon as she wanted.

She knew then, as she still does, that it was her brother's way of trying to keep his wife's mind off the worrying; it was all he could give her to occupy her thoughts away from hospitals and treatment and the future it seemed their little boy had been dealt.

She recalls her best friend's laughter when the blonde arrived to find what looked like a lowered ski lift operating on the other side of the grounds; only to be informed that it was a _funicular railway_, and that Blair had all but demanded Chuck have it installed because she refused to walk up the hill to their home every day. The fact that their driveway extended all the way down and they were almost always driven straight to their front door was irrelevant.

The last time she visited plays across her mind. It was more than two years ago, and even then it was for her own selfish underlying reasons. True, she'd wanted to see her best friend, and it was good for the kids to see each other too; but she'd really gone to make sure that her best friend and her brother came to her wedding. She was marrying Carter after all, and not everyone understands him, or what they have, like she does, like they did.

And Serena had needed them to understand.

If they'd had enough faith in themselves all those years ago, and it kept them going, she'd reasoned that maybe they'd have enough in her and Carter to ensure they were given the same chance.

**"You look really happy Blair," Serena remarks as she turns to look at her friend who is watching across the plain with an easy smile across her face, features relaxed.**

**"I am happy," Blair assures her; smile still playing across her lips.**

**"No, I mean – this is different. You look… at peace. You look content," she rephrases, her lips still spread in a smile.**

**"My son has his sight back, my daughter seems settled. I suppose I am happy," her best friend tells her, glancing at her before returning her gaze to the scene below them.**

**"I think it's this place – it's almost magical, Blair. I think you've finally found yourself," Serena says then, reveling in the air with the brunette by her side.**

**"Maybe it is this place," Blair muses for a moment.**

**They listen to the shouts of glee from the valley below and laugh with their children as they watch them. Cooper is driving a buggy around the grass at the foot of the hill with Augie sitting on a plastic sled attached to the back by a piece of rope. And as he is laughing, being pulled this-way-and-that around the wide expanse they have at their disposal; Atlas is giggling away gleefully as he races across the zip-wire on Lena's lap, Hadley chasing after them as she wills her own seat to fly faster on the line parallel to theirs.**

**When Blair turns back to face her, her lips are still curved and her eyes still hold that shine, and her best friend tells her, "I'm pregnant."**

**And there is no doubt in Serena's mind that this is exactly where her best friend wants to be: she can see it in her every movement, the look in her eyes, the expression on her face; even the manner in which she holds herself.**

**Blair is happy here, and as Serena surveys the life her best friend has created for herself, she can't think of a reason why she wouldn't be.**

And as the memories wash over her, her focus returns to the images before her: the smiles that spread across the faces of her brother, her sister, their children, they burn into the backs of her eyes and she feels the tears start to fall.

She doesn't even try to stop them, because why should she? How could she?

So much of their time together has been forgotten, so much never experienced; and now she may never get to share in that again.

She's neglected them for so long, taken their continued presence in her life to mean she's been one in theirs; but there's an ache in her chest that she feels she will never be rid of and she understands now: this is what abandonment really feels like, when you're not just the victim, but the culprit too.

.

She's been sitting in the same position watching the shadows of dusk fall beneath the brightness of dawn and praying with each passing moment for the world to stop spinning. Her back is stiff and her feet are numb, but she's yet to move; her eyes haven't so much as twitched in the opposite direction of their set course.

She watches their steady breathing; the extra blanket she covered them with some hours ago shifting smoothly with every rise and fall of their chests that flow in perfect tandem.

She holds her breath when her sister hiccoughs, her body going completely rigid as she watches her brother stiffen instinctively from his place alongside the younger.

She thinks she might've forgotten to breathe, though, because the covers have almost been removed entirely when she blinks and finds two sets of eyes staring back at her; alert in their early curiosity, lips parting to breathe questions she has no answers to give.

She thinks the world could've stopped and she'd never have noticed anyway; because suddenly all the time that's passed while she's been sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the room watching them sleep is not enough to prepare her for this moment.

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out and the only thing she hears is the screaming in her mind.

And really, how did she ever think she would be able to tell her little brother and sister that the reason the house has been especially somber as of late, the cause for the hushed whispers and the hurried staccato conversations, is the bodies that have been discovered among the wreckage of their parents' plane?

That the reason she's been cowered in the dark for hours is because she's been wishing more than ever that the light from the world outside would chase away their shadows; if only so she wouldn't have to tell them that everyone they've been counting on to bring their parents back to them has already lain them to rest awaiting identification?

Her heart will break before they've even got that far, the moment the words spill from her lips and the tears spring to their eyes.

They're a family, and there are five of them.

When two are gone, the three left behind struggle on; but it's five that makes them whole.

It is their parents that complete them.

.

Her cousins' maid has been bustling around them all for what seems like hours, but in reality is most likely only a few minutes. She arrived that morning, made a beeline straight for Hadley's mother and demanded to know where the children and their grandmother were. Her mother had made the mistake of asking if the elder had been at her Aunt and Uncle's house this whole time and received a swift rebuke that informed her that she was only there under _Mees Blair and Meester Chuck's_ instructions; but that she refused to remain there after she heard the newest reports.

Of course, the mood hasn't lifted. She can't imagine how it could, after all; but she feels naïve for her previous thoughts, imagining that things couldn't get much worse.

They have; they've spiraled down so far in a matter of hours, in such a short space of time, that she wonders if they'll ever be able to claw their way back up to the light.

She's not just referring to herself; she's the least affected, really. Her mother is a wreck, failing miserable to hide it, of course, and leaning so heavily on Carter that Hadley wonders if he actually has the strength to keep her mother afloat. He seems to have been doing it for so long; she wonders if there will ever be a limit.

Her Uncle Eric has busied himself with phone calls, calls upon calls upon calls, calls that seem to do nothing but deepen the frown marring his features. He spends most of his time pacing, exchanging words with her cousins' grandparents and the Head of Security and other officials that seem a far greater presence in the household today more than ever before.

Her younger cousin slinks into the kitchen apparently unnoticed, and she marvels at the feat; especially under such conditions as those set around them. He's been holed up upstairs, along with his two siblings, for what seems like forever now.

He gives her a small smile, and comments, "You're the best looking female I've seen on this floor today and your hair looks like a bird's nest."

"Hey!" she exclaims, falling easily into teasing mode with him. "It's hard to look as good as your sister when my mother's falling apart, my father's showing me his perfected disappearing act and my Uncle's practically running himself into the ground trying to find answers that aren't there."

She has foot-in-mouth syndrome; always has done, fears she always will. She says things without thinking them through, says things that no one else would because really _who_ would? Her Uncle Chuck and Aunt Blair used to both agree on the fact that it was undoubtedly her Uncle Dan's over-zealous influence.

_Used to_.

Even in her head, she can't get it right.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, and immediately stands and engulfs her little cousin in a hug.

It takes a beat too long for him to shift and return the embrace.

When they part, she looks straight into his eyes and says, "How are you doing?"

"To be honest," he tells her quite frankly, "I'd be a lot better if people stopped asking me that."

When he walks back out of the kitchen, as quietly as he came in, his slight frame hugs the shadows with every step. She stares after him, in awe at his ability to be so utterly stealth-like, and it triggers the memory of the last time she visited her cousins: they played _hide-and-seek_, only it spanned a vast portion of the Bass compound and they had slightly exaggerated guidelines, but no matter how many times they played, Augie always won. Apparently he has an amazing aptitude for becoming invisible.

She's still staring at the space he just left when her older brother walks in and fills it.

"What are you gaping at?" he questions, watching her with a curious look.

"What are you doing in here?" Hadley returns just as readily. "I thought you were supposed to be watching Atlas while Carter was with Mom?"

"I was – and then he got restless." Cooper shrugs. "He went off to find Magdalena."

"And you just _let _him?" she asks incredulously; she knows her brother is selfish, but she can't believe he's that stupid too.

"No," he shoots back. " 'Course I didn't."

She doesn't quite breathe a sigh of relief, though she knows she should; maybe that would have more of the kind of impact that is needed.

"I went after him, tried to stop him, but then he ran into Dorota – of course," he rolls his eyes at their younger brother's clumsiness, " – and Lena heard all the commotion, because the daft woman was spouting out things in Polish, and she invited Atlas into her room with her."

She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats he to it; as usual, he always has to get the first – and last – word in.

"She's just watching Viv," he's quick to further defend his actions. "She said it wasn't a problem."

"Well, of course she said that." Hadley rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"Hey, if you're so worried about it, why don't you go up there and take him back?" Cooper replies, with a raised eyebrow.

They hit a stalemate and he leans against the counter while she retakes her seat.

"I put my foot in it again," she confesses, and looks up to briefly meet his eyes. "I think Augie sought me out to get away from it all, and all I did was drag him right back into the thick of it."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," her brother empathizes. "The kid's got thicker skin than you'd believe."

"The kid's _twelve_, Cooper," she rebukes, sends him a look as her hand falls to the table, palm hitting the surface with a _slap_.

"Yeah, a twelve year old who could potentially end this whole thing if he just spoke to all the officials in there and told them what he saw," her brother responds, arm raised to emphasize his point by gesturing to the room next to them; the room that holds all those trying to find out anything they can on what happened to their Aunt and Uncle.

Her brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

"He was there," Cooper enlightens her. "Augustus was there when his parents boarded the plane – if someone put something on it or got on when they weren't supposed, he'd be able to tell them."

She stays silent, in truth, because she has no clue what to say to that.

"He holds the key to answering so many questions, Had," her brother informs her. "And he won't speak up."

"Why?" she asks when she finally finds her voice; light in the air, it falls from her lips like the breath it leaves on.

"Because his sister won't let him," the elder replies simply.

"But Magda – " she immediately starts to defend their cousin; there's a bond there, one that she will forever protect, preserve. "Magda wouldn't stop him if it meant getting their parents back. Would she?"

"You think you know them so well, Hadley," Cooper remarks then.

She's not sure if her brother is mocking her naiveté or sympathizing with her belief that she could ever possibly _know_ the Basses.

"Apparently their Head of Security, Harris, he's backing her all the way," he explains. "Supports her intent to keep Augustus as far away from it all as possible."

"She's protecting him," she surmises.

"I suppose she thinks she is," her brother awards her that much.

He rolls his shoulders.

"But he sits with a sketch artist every day," he reports. "Narrates anything and everything he can recall while they draw up the images; and then they're passed onto the officials."

He lets her in on this information; like it's a secret he's been gifted

"She won't let him be anymore involved than that, won't let anyone _near_ him to get anything more out of him than what he can give in those drawings," Cooper tells her; and it's almost as if he feels sorry for the boy, for not being allowed to be more involved in the search for answers as to what happened to his parents, what led them all to this point.

She thinks her brother is trying to empathize his situation with her cousin's; it's not the same, could never be, and she can't believe he'll ever find the answers he's looking for in their tragedy.

"Family's stick together," Hadley says then, as if it's a motto she's always lived by.

"It's funny how I keep hearing that," Cooper responds, his voice unsurprisingly biting. "So much faith in one family, one unit."

The sudden change in his demeanor shouldn't shock her, years in his presence should allow her preparation for such instances, but it always catches her by surprise; and she despises him a little more each time, because he makes her despise herself for not learning her lesson when he's given her ample opportunities.

"But they're not together now, are they?" he comments; and it's as if he's not talking to her anymore, not referring to their cousins either.

And as she watches her brother's retreating form, walking the path her cousin did mere minutes before, all she can think is that even with their parents missing, feared _dead,_ the Basses are still more of a family than they're ever likely to be.

.

Carter leans against the doorframe watching the scene before him, marveling at how two people such as Chuck and Blair could ever create such perfect individuals. Then again, shifting his eyes down to look at his son, he can't help but think the same of what he and Serena achieved.

"Carter," Lena stands and greets him.

His son turns to him at the mention of his name, but he holds out a hand and nods his head reassuringly to tell Atlas he can stay where he is. The youngster swivels back round; returns to the far more interesting task of drawing around his baby cousin on the interactive wipe-board that spans the height and width of the opposite wall. Viv's eyes turn too, from his tall frame, back until they are once more transfixed on the screen in front of her that is currently relaying the images his son is projecting, and she giggles her delight at all his little boy is giving her.

"I'm surprised Dorota's allowing you babysitting duties," he quips, and is glad when he sees a small smile grace the teenager's lips.

There's always been a certain ease to their relationship; they've always gotten on – much to everyone else's mixed reviews of amusement, delight, and intense _curiosity_.

"I'm surprised you managed to escape the sinking Titanic for long enough to even take a breath," she comments in return.

"I'm sorry about Serena, but you know how she is," he tells her then, almost beseeching. "She tries to hold it all together, but she never can."

She simply nods, not saying a word; understanding in silence.

"She's not like you," he says next.

"Not like my mother, you mean," she rephrases.

Her lips are still curved, her eyes almost softening at the edges as they lift to meet his.

"It's alright," she assures him. "Uncle Eric is finding it harder and harder to look at me, I know."

"He blames himself," Carter surmises.

"Don't we all," is her response.

He puts his hands on her shoulders then, holds her until her gaze returns to face him and he is sure she is listening to what he is saying; really listening.

"This is not your fault, Lena," he tells her. "Whatever happens, whatever has happened – it is not your fault."

"Then tell me who should be held accountable. Find me a name," she replies. "Find me something that will absolve one semblance of the guilt I know we're all feeling. Find me that, Carter."

"Take a look behind you," he answers softly.

"Don't," she says then, and there's more warning, more steel in her voice than he thinks he's ever heard.

"She doesn't blame you," he says instead, his voice strong, his words true.

"She's barely old enough to understand what's happening," is what she replies to that.

"Now, I know you don't believe that," he chastises her lightly in return.

There is a wry smile curving his lips, his head tilted as he watches her.

"She doesn't blame you," he repeats. "This is not your fault."

"It should be," she says, after the longest of moments.

The belief in that one statement, the resolution in her tone; it shakes him to the core.

"If it was my fault, I could put an end to it," she tells him, startlingly honest. "If it was my fault, it would already be over."

Her very words tear at his insides, because she used to be so strong, and seeing her fall apart like this, it's horrifying.

"But it won't be over until whoever _is_ responsible deems it so." Her eyes are hard on his; and it's like looking at the sky before lightning cuts it in half. "And I don't even know if that will ever happen."

Her voice is hollow, and it scares him.

More than the look in her eyes, or the feel of her bones beneath his fingertips.

With every moment her parents are missing or presumed dead or unaccounted for; for every moment they are not here, their daughter becomes more and more of a shell of her former self.

And this scares Carter the most; because he knows as well as anyone how fiercely Chuck and Blair love their children, and so to see Lena wasting away like this, under the guise of their belief in her sheer resilience; it is nothing short of life-stopping.

It terrifies him even more to think he might be one of the few who can see, that has noticed the change beneath the surface.

Because if they can't even see what is right before them, hinting just beneath a surface that they could scratch and come away bleeding rivers; how can they possibly hope to discover what is hidden from their view; buried in the dark recesses of their own minds and this family's hearts?

.

"Eric," she calls across to him, clearing her throat, and motioning to the younger to garner his attention.

He joins her in the hallway, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes and ears of the room.

"What do you know of a man by the name of Anders Linderoth?" Serena asks.

"He's Chuck's former-protégé," Eric replies easily, a smile immediately curving across his lips to accompany the words. "He and his younger brother lived with Chuck and Blair for a while. Chuck helped Anders start his own company; partnered with him on quite a few ventures – he's practically family."

He doesn't comment on the fact that this isn't something she should have to ask, doesn't make any digs at being closer to their brother than she is or likely ever has been, doesn't give any remarks at knowing more about his family than she does.

"Why?" he inquires instead. "Is he here?"

"No," she responds, and then hesitates. "Well, not anymore, at least, anyway."

Eric latches on quickly; always has done.

"What did you do?" he immediately questions her.

"Is he sleeping with Lena?" is all she says to that.

"I wouldn't know," he replies, eyes set coolly on hers as he pointedly remarks, "That is something you would have to ask _Lena_ about, isn't it?"

"I just – " she starts to explain and instantly falters, "He appeared late last night – "

"It's a seven-hour flight," her brother interjects.

"Well, I found a man upstairs in the pitch-dark, outside my teenage niece's room, and I didn't know who he was," she rushes. "How was I supposed to consider him a good influence on her right now when that's my first introduction to him?"

Eric heaves a sigh and runs his hand through his hair, turning away from her for a moment and then dragging his eyes back to meet hers.

"Serena, Lena is nineteen," he starts, and then gives her a look, which makes her want to shirk away from him. "He knows all of the staff, and he _got_ upstairs without any resistance – did you not think to take that into consideration? Or maybe ask him what he was doing?"

"He said he just wanted to make sure she was ok," she replies in a small voice, almost timid. "That she was sleeping alright and not running herself into the ground."

Her brother remains silent; as if this is not news to him, as if the words alone should've been enough to clue her into the man's intentions, regardless of whether she'd encountered him before or not.

"He sounded like he cared," she says then, and her face crinkles up, as she realizes the mistake she's made even before her voice cracks around the words.

"He does," is what her brother responds.

He gives her a small smile, but a consolation prize.

"Well, I suppose this at least gives you something you can fix," he comments.

Because really, all she wants to do is help them, in any way she can. She doesn't _want _to hinder their lives further, cause them more pain; but, in truth, she needs help, guidance. Almost as much as they do, if not more.

And that's a scary realization.

"Go and get him back, Serena," her brother tells her then, before returning to the room and leaving her with the belief that she can do this one thing for them.

.

He's twelve and he knows a lot of things.

He knows his Aunt is hurting because it's taken his parents disappearing for her to realize how much she's missed in their lives; because it was never supposed to be like this, the ease versus the complex, the tangled branches of her life choking the roots that had bound her all along.

He knows his Uncle blames himself for not being there: because he's _always_ been there, and he's here now, and his parents… his parents aren't.

He knows his sister deserves to smile like she used to: he's perceptive enough to realize he might not be the best one to make that happen, no matter what he feels or what she says; and resourceful and insightful enough to know who is.

He knows his baby sister should grow up like they did, have all the chances they had, be gifted all the same opportunities by their parents; she's always been their secret savior, their lingering hope, and she should have all that they can offer bestowed upon her.

He knows having his sight back doesn't mean as much as it once did when he can't use it to see his family, his _whole _family.

He knows a family can only survive so long without two key members before they eventually crumble to the point where they have no other way to go but inwards; the end of the world is nigh and they're going to implode.

He knows life isn't fair.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading – please let me know what you thought, it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	5. The World Is In My Chaos Dream

Apologies for the delay, uni and work life went crazy hectic for a while, but the holidays are very soon, so hopefully I'll be able to wrap this up shortly

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Five: The World Is In My Chaos Dream

He can't shake the feeling of dread that's overcome him; can't fight the ache within his very bones, the gnawing at his insides.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her neck.

This is all wrong. He's meant to be strong, and already he's falling apart in her arms like the déjà vu of too many scenarios they've lived through that stemmed from something terrible and never ended well.

"Our children are safe, Chuck," she breathes into his skin. "That's all that matters."

He holds her closer then, can feel her heart beating against his own and wishes they could just fuse as one so they could never part.

Their children are safe, and for that he is more than grateful.

But the only thing he can think just then is: _you're wrong_.

He wants to scream till his lungs collapse on themselves, till he breathes his last breath with her lips on his.

His family is the most sacred thing to ever exist within the realms of his self, and he loves his children as fiercely as he loves their mother.

He doesn't know where his children are, but he knows where his wife is; and it is nowhere he'd ever want any of them to be.

_Our children are safe; _the words tear at his skin like the blood leaking from his heart; _but you're not._

.

Intel has been pouring in for hours; some disregarded, some clutched within greedy hands, eager eyes drinking in every word.

In truth, Nate finds the whole task exhausting. He's assisting as much as he can; providing contacts, passing on information from his people to theirs; but it's not enough. He can see the effect this sudden development has had when he looks up and sees Eric pacing the length of the floor. It seems the younger is rarely without a phone pressed to his ear, continually multi-tasking between the needs of those present before him and those out-with his sight, but not his reach.

"In your opinion, would Mr. Bass negotiate?" the official questions.

"My father does not negotiate with terrorists," Lena's voice resounds strongly around the room.

"Even if they threatened your mother?" the man turns and directs his question to the young woman who stands tall and proud before them all, unwavering.

"My father does not negotiate with terrorists," she repeats, her voice as steady as before.

She tilts her head slightly, considering.

"Throwing money at them, on the other hand," she comments, almost off-handedly; he finds it foreign given the setting, the circumstance.

"So, you're saying that your father _would_ negotiate, in terms of money at least," the man surmises at this.

"Money only matters to my father so far as the power it gives him," is what she informs them.

Nate can't believe this, commenting before he's really thought the whole moment through, and even scoffing somewhat as he does so. "Chuck Bass, not care about money? That used to be one of the few things he did care about."

Lena's eyes are on him in an instant, her voice cold, impossibly biting, as she says, "Well, with all due respect, Mr. Archibald, your absence in our lives over the past years tells its own tale of how well you know my father. The last time I, or any of my family saw you, was when, exactly? When my brother was still blind? Before my sister was born?"

She turns sharply to face the investigators then, casting a cool gaze across the room.

"A few years ago, my younger brother was caught in a fire. He lost his sight. For all my father's wealth, he could do nothing to prevent my brother's blindness," she informs them quite matter-of-factly. "He couldn't stop the heartache my family suffered, the time my brother lost while he eagerly waited for a cure; he couldn't recreate the moments he never got to see for himself."

A pin could drop and its echo circle the world and still it would be heard upon its return; such is the silence, the unadulterated attention, that surrounds the teenager as she speaks.

"Money couldn't stop my brother from losing his sight; it could only bring it back. And money was what put the company responsible for the incident out of business; made sure all those to blame were held liable," she informs them.

She clears her throat and spares a glance across at him, before she speaks once again.

"So, you see, gentlemen," she addresses them. "My father would give away his entire fortune if he thought it would keep his family safe, make them happy. But if you do anything to jeopardize this, he will stop at nothing to hold you accountable."

Lena says this as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

He supposes, it is, in the world in which she lives.

"My father will kill those men, whether he has to give away a large portion of his monetary fortune or not. They've caused us untold grief already. They've involved my mother. No matter what they do now, they will not get away with their lives."

The promise that rings in her words reminds him of a determined young man he once thought he knew; a boy who would stop at nothing to have everything and anything he wanted, and Hell mend whoever even so much as attempted to get in his way.

Some things really haven't changed. And in this instance, Nate couldn't be more grateful.

.

He's thankful for small mercies in that he's well aware he was most likely one of the last people to actually speak to Chuck directly. Except, with this small semblance of gratitude that comes with being the recipient of any last order, is the more terrifying realization of what this actually means. It means he replays the conversation over and over in his head; hoping to hear something differently, detect any hidden meanings, discover a background noise that could be the breakthrough they so desperately want. It means he lies awake at night wondering if that was the last conversation he will ever share with his brother.

**"I hear congratulations are in order," Eric's remarks as the line connects, and his voice tells of his amusement.**

"**Why?" the reply is just as light on the tongue. "Because whatever I bequeath you in my will has just grown substantially?"**

"**I resent that," the younger admonishes. "I'll have you know I'm a shoe-in for a tidy sum when Rufus goes – he was band in the '90's, you know? And I _am_ part of the Humphrey legacy now."**

**He ignores the derisive _hmph_ that greets these words.**

"**Hey! Maybe the old man'll leave you something too; help out with your finances a bit," Eric goes on, his grin wide as he speaks. "You know, what with him being the adopted step-father and all."**

**There's a scoff on the other end of the line and he chuckles as his brother says, "Please don't remind me; it's an aspect of my life I try hard not to acknowledge."**

**The smile plays on his lips, growing wider as his brother continues.**

"**I'd think you, of all people, would be with me on that one," Chuck remarks then.**

"**Oh I am, don't worry, I'm van der Bass all the way – you should already know that," Eric reassures him; he can't help it.**

"**You and that name." He can tell his brother is rolling his eyes, though good-naturedly, and it makes him smile even more.**

"**You love it," the younger comments.**

"**I love _you_; I tolerate _it_," Chuck rephrases.**

**He shrugs, and then laughingly tells his brother, "I'll convert you eventually."**

"**Yes, maybe in another – how many years?" the elder throws back, and Eric can tell he's smiling too.**

"**I still have time," he replies easily.**

"**Oh, while I have you, Augie wants to talk to you about something before we leave," Chuck informs him.**

"**You're taking him with you?" he asks, because this is a development he's yet to hear.**

"**No," his brother says, reassuring Eric that he's still the elder's first point-of-contact. "He's just accompanying us to the airfield, wants to see his mother and I off."**

**Eric imagines Chuck rolling his eyes in that affectionately exasperated way he employs at his son's actions, and laughs as his brother heaves a sigh.**

"**Oh, you know you love it – he dotes on you like nothing I've ever seen," he tells the elder.**

"**Mmm," his brother responds. "It's just like having you around 24/7."**

**He hears him chuckle at his own joke and laughs along with the elder, commenting, "Oh, very good."**

"**Anyway," Chuck announces after a moment. "He's practically been jumping all over me for the past five minutes trying to get me to relinquish the phone to him. So, please, speak to your nephew."**

**Eric laughs louder as he envisions this, and they say their goodbyes.**

"**We'll talk soon, little brother," Chuck assures him and then hands the phone across to his son.**

"**Uncle Eric!" the young voice greets him excitedly.**

"**Augustus!" Eric exclaims instantly in return.**

He jolts awake, and quickly scans his surroundings. It's a recurring dream that haunts him even during his waking moments.

He understands that his niece must have her reasons for not allowing his nephew to speak to the investigators; the trauma, for one, would be undeniable to the impressionable twelve-year-old. Yet he can't shake the feeling that if Augie could just pinpoint but a single significant feature, it could be exactly what they need to find Chuck and Blair and finally bring them back.

.

"**Look, Cooper, I know I'm not there as much as either of us would like, and I don't see you as much as I should, but Carter – Carter's not what you want in a father," Nate tries to impress his point, before his son cuts him off.**

"**As opposed to what? You?" Cooper scoffs. "Look, there are more horror stories about Serena and Chuck's adolescent years than either you or Blair or anyone else around here; and yet they've turned out just fine as parental figures."**

"**I realize that son, but Carter – he's still not someone I'd like you to be associating with, never mind living under the same roof as and growing up around. He's not a good influence."**

"**Do me a favor, and stop judging him. He's here," his son tells him simply.**

**_And you're not_.**

**The words hang in the silence that follow the moment, and Nate can still hear them ringing in his ears when his son tells him he has to go and the dial tone sounds.**

**He doesn't think he'd even given him the chance to say goodbye.**

**He takes the phone from his ear and automatically presses the button to hang up, leans back in the armchair and exhales deeply. When he places the phone on the side table, his hand replaces it with the crystal glass positioned next to it. He brings it to his lips and takes a drink, the earlier conversation he had had with his daughter coming to the forefront of his mind to join the one he's just had with her brother:**

**"So your mother is actually serious about marrying him then?" he had said, fighting to stay casual, aloof.**

**"Dad, Carter loves her. And besides, they've got Atlas. He's six, Dad. I think it's safe to say they're ready for the next step," she had replied, sounding like the typical teenager.**

**_I left your mother when you were six, _he had thought; though he still daren't ever voice such a thing_._**

**"And you're… ok with this, are you?" he had ventured.**

**"Mmm," she had voiced, "I mean, he loves Mom."**

**"So you've already said," had been his retort.**

**He'd tried not to grate his teeth with the words, though he wasn't sure he succeeded.**

**"But what about you? How do you feel about this?" he'd asked then, attempting the caring, interested, _invested_ parent.**

**"I'm happy."**

**It didn't quite work how he planned it.**

**"You're… happy?"**

**"Yeah, he loves mom," _so you keep telling me_, " And he's good to us."**

**"Well, then – "**

**His words had crumpled on his tongue at what his daughter had said next.**

**"And he's here, you know, to stay."**

**She's never voiced it explicitly, never said outright that he isn't there enough for her, or her brother (though it's never stopped her mother), but it is still present; and now he is laying witness to it. The gap between him and his children is becoming ever greater and he has no one to blame but himself. And apparently, the one to fill the void is none other than Carter Baizen.**

**_He's here_, his daughter had said, _to stay_.**

**The words mix with those of his son and he feels them tossing and turning in his head like all those nights that preceded this moment. And after watching the minutes tick by, all he can hear is: _You don't know him. He's not you._**

**He realizes how right they are when their names flood his mind, obscuring his vision, until all he can see is: Cooper Abrams-Archibald, Hadley van der Woodsen-Archibald, and Atlas_ Baizen._**

**Neither of his ex-wives had allowed their children to take his name alone. Yet Serena has allowed it of her soon-to-be husband; where she holds a position akin to that of Vanessa when the other had borne his son all those years ago. Fifteen now was it? Sixteen? He can't even remember the exact age of his first-born child; this failure alone tells him Serena is right.**

**It speaks volumes that she'd rather have _her_ three children grow up with different surnames than fully acknowledge his role in their lives.**

**It is telling also, that two years later, he steadfastly objects to his ex-wife's appeal to change his children's surname to that of her husband; and yet it takes his best friend and his wife being kidnapped for him to actually return to the city in which they live.**

Failure has never sat well with Nate Archibald; but for years it seems to be all he's known.

He's determined not to let it continue any longer.

.

Cries awaken her as they echo off the walls, and she bolts upright, head snapping from side to side as she tries to understand where exactly she is at this moment, before recollection floods her senses, and causes her to bound from the bed to the door.

She careens along the corridor, towards the source of the noise, only to stop short in the doorway.

"Anders," she breathes it out in a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the vision before her.

He turns to her, Vivian cradled in his arms, a look of utter contentment on her small face; and he smiles, wide and easy. And it's like the last morning they spent together: when they watched the sunrise and felt the world spin beneath them, and knew that whatever happened they would be ok, because tomorrow always brought another day, another chance to make things right.

"What are you doing here?" she finally manages to get out.

She holds out her arms, and he hands her little sister to her.

"Augie called," he says it as if this is reason enough. And it is, it always has been for her, so it's enough for him too.

Family will always be reason enough for him; and she will always be his destination.

"I would've come to see you earlier, but I wasn't sure how you'd react to my presence," he tells her, and she nods, because she understands. "I didn't want to do anything to cause you more hurt, more stress."

She pauses for a moment, and he watches her still, before she says simply, easily, "Thank you."

Then she turns and places her baby sister in her crib, gently places a curl behind the little girl's ear, savors the feeling of her soft skin beneath her fingertips. Viv rolls onto her side and snuggles into her blanket: content, protected, safe.

"But you're here now," she says next, turning and taking a step forward, a step closer towards him.

"Like I said," he replies, a small smile lighting up his features, "Augie called."

"He worries about me," she answers. Her head turns to the side, to where her baby sister lies sleeping, as if indication that there are others more worthy of such worry.

"He has reason to," he tells her and takes a step forward too.

"Maybe," she murmurs softly; though he knows she doesn't really believe it.

"You're looking after them, and you're doing a damn fine job of it too," he says.

The compliments spill effortlessly from his lips as he watches her watch over her baby sister.

"But who's looking after you?" he asks, his breath hot on her skin as the words delve deeper.

When Lena turns, he notes the change in her immediately. He knows her well; too well. It's something he suspects neither of them will ever be rid of; something he prays he will never be rid of.

She crosses the small distance that is left between them, steps on tiptoes to reach him, and embraces him closely.

He closes his eyes in that single moment when they are one, and forgets that time has elapsed with the feeling of her in his arms once more.

"I've missed you," she murmurs into his shoulder, and he shivers with the sensation.

He tightens his hold on her; breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, the smell of her perfume. He feels the stirring within him and takes the moment to marvel at how neatly she fits in his arms, still, after all the time that has passed; and he knows that his love for her will never cease to be.

"I'm here now," he tells her soothingly in return.

She nods, doesn't say anything else; and he realizes she's crying. The wetness seeps through the material of his shirt, and he thinks her tears might just be burning through his skin to reach his very core.

He's witnessing her undoing, and it's eating away at him that he can do nothing to prevent it.

He can't bring her parents back; can't reunite her family.

All he can do is be there for her, and hope that for now, that will be enough.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!  
Steph  
xxx


	6. It's Not The End Of The World

I would like to apologise for the ridiculous gap between this chapter and the last.  
Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

Chapter Six: It's Not The End Of The World, But I Can See It From Here

They appear on the sixth day and hold a knife to his wife's throat.

It's been six days too many already, and he'll be damned if he lets another man lay a hand on his wife now when he's never condoned it before.

Blair makes the first move and slams her heel into the man's foot: it may not have the added benefit of four-inches and a pointed tip, but she's had enough practice for it to be effective all the same.

Chuck wrenches the arm from his wife's throat, twisting it till he hears the cracking of bones and watches as the sharp edge of the blade embeds itself in the man's eye.

He wraps his hand tightly around her wrist and yanks her from the other's outstretched grasp, placing her behind him, away from immediate danger.

They're swarmed by the man's backup before he can slit the little cretin's throat.

When they're finally left alone, threats continue to resound off the walls and the visions of brandished weapons that promise further retribution dance before their eyes. He turns to her and immediately draws her in close, the sob that she can't quite catch in her throat muffled against the solid planes of his chest; he shuts his eyes tight as he feels the heat of the blood that's spilled from the delicious curve of her neck start from his heart and mark its trail.

When he pulls away, frames her face with his hands, there's relief in her eyes, gratitude, love. He pulls her into him again and holds her; with her arms looped around his neck, she clings to him like he is her last hope for survival.

He feels the same way; it's how it's always been.

He'd do anything for her.

He loves her.

He didn't need for them to be kidnapped to discover that.

He didn't need that at all.

.

Coughs rack her lithe frame and Augie stills just as he crosses the threshold, his leg bent as he pauses mid-step, eyes darting from her to him and back again. Anders simply holds Lena tighter and after a moment a calm washes over her, the grip of her fingers on the skin of his back releasing as she breathes out against his chest, finally, deep and easy.

Her little brother replicates the motion and the blonde takes the moment to lift a hand and flip part of the duvet over, leaves it like that for the younger to climb up and under the covers. When he does so, he instinctively snuggles in close to his sister, and the blonde detangles himself from Lena's sleeping form. Augie shoots his head up in silent question and Lena makes a muffled noise in protest as he gets up from the bed.

"I'm just going to get her something from downstairs, for when she wakes up," Anders explains; absentmindedly adjusting his t-shirt, ruffled by her touch.

He knows the younger understands. She's not been keeping well and he's here for a reason and if he can't help her now, he shouldn't have come.

Augie nods and lays his head back down against his sister's shoulder, waits for him to return as she does the same; nestling her head into the pillow and breathing in deeply and evenly again.

And he can't help it; it makes him breathe a slight sigh of relief too, because she really has missed him.

.

When he enters the kitchen, he finds his sister and her husband standing by the counter on the opposite side of the room. Carter's head is bowed, Serena's hands looped around his neck and they're speaking in hushed tones. They're obviously in the middle of something, sharing an intimate moment. Eric knows he should be appreciative of their time together, especially now, especially given the circumstances; but he just honestly can't bring himself to expend the energy.

His throat is dry and his energy is waning; he's working on more than one time zone, he needs the coffee to keep him awake and his voice intact. Right now, that's all that matters, because they can pretend all they want, but he's the only one who seems to actually be getting any answers. He's not about to stop now; not when he's made so much progress.

"You're going home," he says, glancing across at the couple as he fills the kettle.

The couple break apart, and he'd feel appropriately guilty for ruining their time together if all his thoughts weren't consumed with the couple who may never enjoy such things again if he doesn't find out minor little details like where they are and who has them and what exactly they want in exchange for the lives of his brother and sister.

"I'll be back later, but I need to talk to the kids," his sister, the one related to him by blood, tells him with a soft smile. "I want to be there when they wake up."

Eric nods, remains silent; lets the sound of the kettle boiling fill the air around him.

"Carter's staying though," Serena adds, laying a gentle hand on her husband's arm.

He didn't need her to tell him that, he'd already guessed as much, and he suspects his brother-in-law was aware of this as well, which was why he hadn't been the one to open his mouth.

He'd marvel at how easy Carter can read him at times compared to his own sister; his own supposed flesh and blood; but then Carter is like Chuck. And his brother has always known him best of all.

"I'll walk you out," Eric says when the couple have said their goodbyes, lifting the two mugs of hot coffee he'd made while they were otherwise engaged and taking a generous gulp from one as he waits for the blonde to reach him.

Serena raises an eyebrow when she sees a steaming cup in each of his hands, the headset attached to his ear in lieu of holding his phone, and the folder tucked under his arm.

"You'll sleep when you're dead, is that it?" she quips with a smile, and then instantly regrets it; her face falling, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He suddenly realizes where his niece gets her foot-in-mouth syndrome from, she's so like her mother it's scary. He knows another teen like that.

"How about I do the talking, and you just listen, hmm?" Eric suggests, and he takes her silence as concurrence.

His lips smack together as he takes another gulp of the scalding liquid and holds it in his mouth, letting it settle over his tongue before the caffeine rushes down the back of his throat and the strength of it hits him full force.

"There's going to be a ransom demand," he tells her; and he continues on before she even has the chance to form the words of a question in response. "We're not sure when, but apparently now we know Chuck and Blair are alive, or at least none of the evidence amassed from the wreckage and the surrounding area points to them being dead, this'll be out there on the channels or wherever these people operate, and whoever has them will make contact."

He's not trying to be cruel, forbidding his sister from speaking after dropping such a bombshell on her; although realistically he thinks she should be grateful she's not had to play witness to even half the things he has in the past six days. It's just that he's been on the phone non-stop, talking to this person and that, and honestly he's exhausted. He just doesn't want to, doesn't have the energy to, add his sister to the list in the middle of it all.

"Apparently it's what happens," he informs her, far more flippantly than he should, he knows, but he's got more important things to concentrate on right now than ensuring he applies the appropriate tone when addressing Serena. "Or so all these agencies and private security firms and just the whole spread of officials that we're working with tell me."

She seems to sense that he meant it when he suggested she simply listen while he explains it, as she nods at him and doesn't say a word.

"I just wanted to give you a heads-up, because obviously the call or the parcel or whatever could come in at any point and since you and Carter are both likely to be here… " he trails off. "Lena doesn't want Augie anywhere near it when it happens, and I just want to make sure he's ok when it does. I can't have Cooper getting into an argument with him again or Hadley putting her foot in it."

She blinks at him and then nods again; apparently this is something she completely understands.

"I know the kid's not a saint, but it'll be tense enough as it is, without having to worry about anything else setting him off, you know?" Eric concludes, and finally he gifts his sister with a small smile; the first break in his façade since he walked in on her early morning interlude with her husband in their brother's kitchen.

"Don't worry, I'll have a word with them," she assures him, with a gentle squeeze to his upper arm.

She moves towards the door, and he watches her go.

"Eric," Serena says kindly, turning back to face him as she steps out onto the porch, her eyes soft; full of the affection she used to shower him with as a child. "You really should try get some sleep."

He nods briskly at her words, but doesn't say anything, just follows her figure as she walks down the steps and slips into the waiting car.

She had it wrong, before. It's not about sleeping when he's dead; it's about actually being able to when he's sure Chuck and Blair aren't.

.

"How old are you, Anders?" Carter asks; lounging on the sofa opposite his chair, arm stretched out along the back in a manner that speaks of the casual nature none of them have felt for a long while now.

"I'll be twenty-seven at the end of the next month," he replies, moving his gaze from the clasped hands resting atop his knee, bent at a right angle with his ankle positioned above the other, to the meet the elder's eyes.

He can tell the other man is mildly surprised; says as much with his next words. "I would've guessed older," is the confession, after a moment.

"War ages you," is the only reply Anders gives, along with a slight shrug.

"As does worrying after a beautiful woman," Carter comments at that.

The blonde turns to survey the elder, who regards him with a small smile.

"I followed Serena across the globe and back again for years, and I still worry about her when she goes for her morning coffee along the block," he explains.

The younger can empathize; at least when there's distance between you there's a reason for feeling helpless. When you're so close that your every move coincides with hers, and that is all you can do, all you can give her, to align your self with her intrinsically; it is so much harder to bear to watch her suffer. To feel ever hitch in her breath beneath your palm, to be the flesh that her nails dig into in what's become an unconscious move; a little pain to deal with a lot of hurt, to be the shadow in her step whatever route she attempts to navigate her way through.

"They'll never know the extent of what we feel for them, no matter how many times we tell them we love them, show them we care. It's just a different way of living," the elder comments; sympathetic to the journey he's chosen to undertake, the course he's been set upon as a result of actions outwith his control, but that he's determined to see through to the finish with her by his side.

The elder can identify with him, and it shows. It shows in the worry lines that mark her influence across his face, in the unyielding stance he seems to hold at all times as if to falter would be to cause her downfall, in the determination that molds his every move. There is purpose in every step he takes, even if it appears like he's on a casual stroll, there always will be when his intent is to constantly and continually end up with her.

"I suspect that's why Chuck never tried to banish you on the spot like my wife did." Carter cracks a smirk at that. "Just let you find your way."

And he sees now, what the future looks like. This man, the uncle of the woman he loves, by marriage or otherwise; he is what love looks like when you've walked the path and made it through the other side. And he reminds Anders so very much of Chuck that it actually makes him wonder why the two are not closer. Then he recalls; opposites attract. Like repels like.

"She was happy with Lukas, so I didn't chase her. Chuck told me that if it were anyone else he'd be encouraging me to go after her, but that I was still an idiot for not trying," he divulges. "But Lukas was my brother and Lena _was_ happy."

Anders dips his head, and he's not entirely sure if it's because he's still can't quite fully face what happened, or if he's simply directing the words at the heart that broke in two when it did.

"Two weeks later, Luke was dead and I found out she'd broken things off with him the week before," he says, his tone hopelessly monotone.

His eyes lift to meet the elder's, who is looking at him with more curiosity than he cares to see projected towards him.

"Apparently I could claim a higher rating on her happiness than he could," Anders concludes.

There's a wry smile twisting at his lips.

"But it doesn't much matter anymore, does it? My brother's dead, and her parents are missing, and all I can do is be here for her."

"The first time I saw you two together, she was smiling; despite it all," Carter tells him, simple fact. "So, I'd say your presence seems to have helped her somewhat already."

"Only some," the blonde says, and he catches his reflection in the mirror; his smile is hollow and his eyes so light they are worthy of drowning in. "I just wish I was capable of more."

"It's enough for now," he is assured.

He looks up to find the elder standing over him, and he nods as he sees the plain understanding on the other man's face.

Carter leaves him with the parting words, "I'll talk to Serena," and a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

At times like these, they do all they can and are left to hope that it's enough. Anders despises times like these; despises any feeling even associated with the helplessness that courses through his veins, despises even the mere suggestion that while he's doing all he can, which is more than anyone else has to give, it's still not enough.

His fingers curl tightly around the tiny tablets that have remained in his grasp, half-moons biting into his skin around another small offering he is laying down for her sake. With a deep breath, he grits his teeth and begins his journey back to where Lena and her brother lie sleeping.

For now, his presence will have to do, because he has nothing more to offer.

He knows he's not alone in that respect; and it's startling to think how so many people can have so little to give.

.

Trepidation trickles down her spine.

"Where are my parents?" her niece demands, always straight to the point; some character traits apparently never change.

"They're safe," is the only response they are given, but all Serena can hear is the unspoken: _for now._

It chills her to the bone and she looks desperately across to her brother, but his eyes are focused on the brunette between them, as hers should be.

"And they will remain as such," Lena says in return, her tone leaving no room for argument.

A laugh plays over the line; it's twisted by the same means through which he is altering his voice, but the blonde has her suspicions that it would sound just as rotten if it were to ring true.

"I think you're forgetting who's in charge here, Miss Bass," the man takes the moment to remind the younger, and the chastisement in his tone is manipulated like with everything else.

The sound makes her want to retch.

"And I think you're forgetting that this is a negotiation," the nineteen-year-old retorts, her mouth set in a thin red line. "We already know I want my parents back, and we're about to find out what you want from me in exchange."

Her brother's hand is on Lena's shoulder, and he squeezes it, as if to provide her the assurance that he's still there, that he's with her in this. She sees the look in her niece's eyes, determined fury; and it scares her a little. She doesn't think the girl needs any encouragement.

"Maybe I just want to make your family suffer," the unidentified voice taunts at that. "Maybe this is just the first stage in the plan. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you have two younger siblings."

"I'd advise you tread lightly," Lena warns, and Serena watches her bare her teeth as she bites down on a low growl.

"No, I'd advise _you_ tread lightly!" the man shouts back manically. "_I'm _the one in charge here. _I'm_ the one with the hostages! You have nothing!"

Silence fills the air, as if the man is taking the moment to collect himself, but the air around the blonde is heavy as it allows the words to sink their claws into her mind, strong and sharp, hooking onto her every thought. This man, what he's doing to them, he's controlling everything.

She hates feeling so helpless, hates relinquishing control to this madman who could be doing God knows what in God knows where to her best friend and her brother, but she doesn't see any other option.

Apparently her niece is not of the same frame of mind. It worries her immensely, and she daren't even think of the consequences of the girl's actions.

"I want proof of life," Lena demands in return.

"You'll take what you're given and that's my words when I tell you that your parents are safe," is the aggravated reply, and by the way his breath comes in short bursts the blonde can tell he's becoming impatient with the nineteen-year-old.

It makes Serena wonder if she should've been more insistent against letting Lena speak to the man when he'd called and specifically asked for her. She's always inwardly berating herself for not being there for her family in the past, but what about now? She should be learning from her mistakes, not adding more to the pile.

"Safe could mean their bodies are neatly packed in a ditch somewhere the authorities won't think to look," is the teenager's short answer to that. "No, I want proof of life. Let me speak to one of them."

She's biting her lip, afraid that if she opens her mouth all she'll have to offer is a sob, and she can't afford to break down right now, not when she's supposed to be one of Lena's pillars of support. She told Carter she could do this, ensured her brother of the same thing; she can't fail when it's the only thing she's been trusted with to do right.

"Fine," the man agrees.

Every person listening in still seems to be waiting with bated breath at the outcome of Lena's order; the minutes that just passed were few, but the silence had already saturated the air.

"I'll have someone go fetch your mother for you," he continues in the same terse, but civil tone, and Serena can imagine his lips pulled tight across his teeth as he delivers them an accompanying smile that's just as grating.

There's no scuffle to be heard, not even a call to order and she knows there's no video feed, so the image in her mind is all she has to contend with; but all she can think about is her niece's words about their bodies lying in a ditch somewhere and what's going to happen next because the dead don't speak, and she's already spent too long entertaining the possibility that her best friend is dead and it's horrifying, truly horrifying. More than anything, Serena needs Blair to respond.

"Mom?" Lena breathes out, and her words hang delicately in the air like they're suspended from the last thread of a spider's web.

"We love you," Blair's voice crackles through the open space, her heart on the line.

It takes Serena a moment to realize that it's not the connection that's at fault, but her best friend's voice. She sounds positively parched, like she's been wandering the desert deprived of water for days, and now her throat is as raw and rough as the treacherous surroundings that are causing her suffering.

That's all they get, before another click reverberates from the speakers as the voice-changer is presumably put back in place.

"Now, we will be in touch as to the sum we expect in exchange for your parents' safe return, as well as a list of the companies and what we expect you to do with them," the man says matter-of-factly.

"And if I refuse?" the teenager questions, drawing the words out slowly, her lips pursed.

"Well, sweetheart, if you refuse, I'm going to put a bullet in your mother's pretty little head while your father looks on, and I'm going to tell them you made me do it," the unknown captor replies, and he says it so casually it makes Serena wonder if he's done this before. She thinks she's might throw up; her knees are shaking, her skin overcome with goosebumps; she doesn't know how her niece is still standing.

"You wouldn't dare," Lena grinds out, and she's baring her teeth again, like an animal set to pounce on its prey, done waiting, this is the moment; all else be damned.

"Oh, that's only if you refuse the transfer, the business handovers, you know, the things we've _agreed upon_," he says nonchalantly, as if that alone will put her at ease enough to comply with his _requests_.

There's a sequence of little cracks as Lena's knuckles bend over the solid wood, pressing hard against the solid surface, unyielding even against the pressure she's placing on it.

"If you continue to piss me off, I'm going to tie your father to a chair and make him watch, as I beat your mother senseless," he tells her, his voice growing colder and colder as his maliciousness starts to manifest itself completely. "And then I'm going to rape her, over and over, while she cries out for your father, who will be helpless to do anything. And it will be _all your fault_."

The blonde watches in horror then as a single tear falls from Lena's eye, taking its time to carve its path over her niece's previously unblemished features.

Then suddenly Serena is speaking, unable to help herself; because this is her brother and her best friend, her _sister_, and this lowlife is talking about her as if she's replaceable, expendable. And the things he's saying – he's talking about Blair as if he could end her life at any minute and it would be of no consequence to him, and quite frankly Serena's had enough of this shit.

"Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch – " she grits out.

"Ah, Mrs. Baizen," the man interrupts her to fully acknowledge her presence, which only serves to infuriate her more. "I knew you had to be listening, and I was wondering how long you'd be able to hold your tongue."

Her eyes narrow, and her nostrils flare and she can feel the eyes of every person in the room staring at her as she opens her mouth once more to conclude her statement, "If you even _think _about touching one hair of her head – "

A low chuckle breaks through the space, that repulsive guttural sound she wishes would choke him mid-breath, but instead he grants her the parting words, "I believe it's a little late for that."

And at that the line goes dead.

.

Nate is making his way along the corridor when he hears it; the sound he thinks he may have been running from his whole life.

He takes a step forward, closer to the one thing he's always been frightened could destroy him completely.

The only thing that happens is the clarity of her crying increases along with the volume, and she is pulled fully into his line of sight.

He doesn't mean to pry on her, especially not within her personal space, but he's drawn to her, his feet leading almost of their own accord, and he finds he cannot tear his eyes away from her.

She's curved like the crest of the moon in the middle of the large bed: her figure so seemingly tiny, her frame so slight among the vast expanse of pillows that surround her, the comforters that barricade her from the edge.

She's shaking, sobs sending tremors along the entire length of her body. Her head is dipped against her chest, as she hugs herself tightly.

And for the life of him, he doesn't think he's witnessed something so heartbreaking.

It's not just that she's crying, this girl, this woman, who appears so unbreakable, so like her mother. It's that he is so conscious of _why_ she is crying; of every minute detail that has led up to this point; of every time her mother must have reenacted this entire scene; and it shakes him to his very core.

And yet he stays rooted to the spot.

If he thinks back, he might note the irony that at the time, during his senior year, Gossip Girl branded him a whore, of _all _things, while his best friend was thrust the title _coward_. If it had been a year earlier, he'd have gawked at the role reversal, but it would have been appropriate. He knows it; should've known it then, still knows it now. Because really, what has changed in that time?

He shuts the door quietly, leaves the teenager alone in a room surrounded by memories he has no part in, haunted by the life that now threatens to engulf her completely.

Nate Archibald never claimed to be the hero; then again, Lena Bass never claimed to be the one able to hold their whole world on her shoulders.

They both had roles thrust upon them, and this kinship should bond them, should be reason enough for him to walk into that room and take her in his arms and hold her. He's her Godfather after all; it's what he's _supposed_ to do, and if not now, then when?

When he retreats along back along his previous path, he finds a tall figure briefly occupying the space. He enters the room where Nate hadn't dared tread, wrapping his arms around the girl that the elder has yet to even brush shoulders with, and he holds her; like she so desperately needs.

It couldn't be more obvious how life is repeating around him; it seems that there's always someone else willing to step up when he isn't man enough to do so himself.

He never would have thought it, but he couldn't be anymore aware of it now: he, Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald, heir to the van der Bilt legacy and all that that entails, is utterly and completely… _replaceable_.

And the situation he finds himself in currently shows this quite plainly. He is an outsider in this world; because everything has spun on a different axis since Chuck and Blair went missing; since the wreckage of their plane was found, since the bodies were located, since it was discovered that they had been abducted.

Since Chuck and Blair became unaccountable to the world that depended on their presence, that world became a different place.

It occurs to him that he has been affected by this change, this upheaval, this sudden absence, in much the same way as the others around him.

He stares at the petite brunette wrapped up in her lover's embrace, gripping tightly to the material of his top as she cries a river of tears into his chest.

There's a reason some people are in this world and some aren't; there's a reason his best friend has always strived for more power, more money; simply _more._

This sort of thing, it shouldn't happen to people like them.

There are too many people who need them around, who depend on their presence alone. So Chuck and Blair, they simply have to come back; because Nate isn't sure anything will ever be the same if they don't.

And everything that was doesn't seem such a bad alternative to nothing that is.

.

_**TBC…**_

* * *

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think. It really does mean a lot :)  
Steph  
xxx


	7. If I Ever Leave This World Alive

WARNING: some parts of this are quite brutal – please skip the first paragraph if you are squeamish or shouldn't be reading this type of thing for whatever reason. It's not the worst I've ever written, but it's not entirely pleasant.  
In saying that, this update is quite long – I think it was my guilt trying to find a way to make up for the ridiculous length of time I've allowed to pass without updating this. Apologies.

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Seven: If I Ever Leave This World Alive

"Tell me, Bass," the man says, sauntering into the room, arms outstretched as he welcomes an answer to his next words, "Is your daughter stupid? Or does she simply not care about what I'm going to do to you if she doesn't give me what I want?"

Chuck slowly lifts his head to meet the man's eyes, and before he can help himself he's reciting a line he uses to tease his family: "I want, doesn't get."

He curses himself, his big mouth; even his inability to stop his thoughts from straying to them when he's stuck in this place. It's tainted now, that one line he shared with his children, his wife; this place has ruined it. If he's not careful, it'll ruin them all.

"Nice. Is that what you teach those kids of yours?" is the smarmy retort to that. "You should've spent a little more time teaching them about discipline, then maybe we'd have this big sorry mess all cleaned up by now."

There's a clamoring of footsteps as more figures pour into the already cramped space to surround them; like a swarm of locusts, they're eager for destruction, keen to get in and get out, repeat the process whenever they're called upon.

"I gave her specific instructions: give me some money, dismantle a few companies, nothing particularly difficult, you know, not too strenuous; so why does she refuse to listen, hmm?"

"Maybe she just doesn't like the sound of your voice," his wife snaps, glaring at the creature on bended knee before them. "It does get rather grating after a while."

"That's funny. She's funny," the other awards her for her effort, nodding in recognition, a hard smile twisting his lips.

He pretends to be amused by this, and then backhands Chuck across the face.

Blair gasps at the sudden severity of the move and lunges forward, so he grapples to find his wife's hand in the darkness and interlaces his fingers through hers, tugging on her arm to stop her.

In place of his wife's anger, he finds himself laughing. The blood gurgles in his throat; he's drowning in this place.

"Mmm, feisty," is the comment that's directed at his wife then, complete with a lick of the lips that makes Chuck's skin crawl and Blair recoil in obvious disgust. "She's her mother's daughter then, huh?"

Chuck growls low in his throat, baring his teeth and causing the other to jerk back suddenly with a cackle that rebounds off the walls and rings in his ears.

This familiarity that this _thing _claims to have with his daughter, his family, any of them; it makes Chuck sick to his stomach. If his wife was safe, away from this place; he'd snap the little shit's neck just to shut him up, show him he doesn't know a damn thing about any of them.

"You know I admire how loyal you all are to one another. Truly," is what they're told then, like they should be proud even a wretch like the one before them can appreciate one of their greatest traits. "Family's a beautiful thing."

The urge to carry out his previous thought is unbelievably powerful. To reach out, to wrap his hands around the other's neck, to feel his windpipe as it crushes beneath the determined strength of his thumbs, his fingers digging into the weak flesh beneath, the steady beat of his pulse slowing until it stops completely.

If only.

The man signals to his henchmen who step forward when he steps back. Chuck squeezes Blair's hand, their last contact before they're brutally pulled apart and she's shoved back against the cold stone wall while he's propelled forward until his midsection connects with the wooden bench now situated in the centre of the room.

He tries to twist round so he can see his wife, but they wrench him back round so he's face to face with the cretin that's been plaguing them for the entirety of their stay.

The disapproval that meets him echoes off the walls with a shake of the head and a _tut-tut_ as he carelessly tosses his latest toy back and forth between each hand. Chuck continues to struggle only to receive a hard knock to the back of his legs for his trouble. It sends him sprawling forward onto the table and allows the giants on either side of him to yank his arms further up the length of the table and secure his wrists against the rough surface. Palms down: they don't need him to offer; this time they can just take what they want.

"But you should know, both of you, your daughter – _Lena_ – she's only making this harder than it needs to be for everyone."

The man leans forward, eyes fixed on his wife's, and presses his body weight down on the object in his hand.

Chuck screams in agony; blood squelching.

Blair cries out; bones crunching.

The man hoots with laughter; the sharp edge of the butcher's knife slamming against the wood beneath.

He sweeps his trophies into his hand, and doesn't flinch when precious metal hits the floor with a clatter, instead swooping down like a magpie to capture it too between greedy claws before allowing them a quick glimpse of his prize in the light.

"Oops," he voices, lips distorted by his manic, crooked attempt at a smile. "Wouldn't want to leave out the best part, now would we? Not sure _Lena_ would appreciate that."

Chuck slumps to the floor, cradling his arm to his chest, staring horrified at what remains of his left hand. Blair crawls over to him, her cheeks stained with tears. She quickly rolls what's left of her shredded stockings down to her ankles, tugging them off hastily in turn, before taking his hand in hers and wrapping the material around the bloody stumps that mark the place where two of his fingers used to be.

"My – my ring," is all he manages to get out, looking desperately up at his wife.

"It's ok, Chuck, it's ok," she soothes him, holding his face in her hands, and looking into his eyes until he can see the faces of their children staring back at him. "Lena's got it, she'll keep it safe."

He's vaguely aware of nodding at her words, his arm raised awkwardly above him. There's a numbness in his fingers he's not felt since before he was even his eldest daughter's age, when being high on a cocktail of drugs and alcohol was part of his body's usual equilibrium.

Pressed tight against the rationed warmth of his wife's chest, he allows himself to succumb to unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge that her heart is still beating, that he can still feel her love.

The last thing he hears is the warped sound of a man's laughter echoing around the taunting words, "You can't beat the classics."

.

The room is bustling; pockets of chatter growing louder, a real mix of personnel huddled over desks and agents scuttling from one area to the next.

He imagines if he didn't feel so out of place, so utterly _useless_ in this hub of activity, he likely wouldn't have noticed the boy as he slips into the room. No one else has noticed him.

And it would be fine, except _Augie_ is like his parents, and Chuck and Blair have always known how to pick their moments.

Serena opens the box with shaky hands. Nate silently wonders why they're letting her do it at all, why they haven't just whisked it away to examine it like everything else; but apparently this is part of the deal, what _he_ instructed was to happen. Apparently they're doing this madman's bidding now; Chuck may not negotiate with terrorists, but they do.

The room falls into silence as the blonde lifts the white piece of card and reads aloud, "For Lena: in case you're considering not adhering to my requests and doing something incredibly stupid instead, this is to remind you of what I have and what you don't, a little incentive – or two."

Nate's already moving through the throngs of people towards the twelve-year-old, who is standing so very still at the back of the room.

Serena lets out a horrified scream, half trapped behind the cage of her teeth as her hand flies to her mouth and she hastily drops the container, leaping back she hits the table behind her and the screeching sound of the feet dragging across the floor drown out everything else in her vicinity.

They really shouldn't have let her open it.

Nate picks up the pace as he gains on the boy's position, made easier by the fact that all those who blocked his path before are now advancing quickly on his ex-wife. He doesn't know why they're bothering. He chances a look back in time to see Serena's face turn to ash, and even from this distance he can see what she sees, what the agents and officers and intelligentsia are all scrambling to collect, to gather up into evidence bags for processing; to finally give them the lead they've been searching for.

The image simultaneously sears itself into his heart and mind.

Two bloody fingers lie in a mass of tissue paper, deep purple in color, thrown from an ivory box that was addressed to his ex-wife in scratchy black ink, but housed a message specifically for his niece; a warning, an _incentive_ – or two.

He tries not to let himself fall into the memories of the past, of the last time he saw those shades intertwined. The memory of Chuck and Blair's wedding is one of the few that he holds with no regrets to shame his participation, or lack thereof, it is one of the few events in which they were all in attendance, all happy, all hopeful. He won't let them taint that for him, he refuses to lose that like he has everything else.

A flash of light catches his eyes, the sound of precious metal hitting the floor; years of sports and the tactics and levels of precision observation pay off and he pinpoints the target, the trajectory, before anyone else. Except him; except their son.

Nate watches the boy, feels like he's suddenly moving in slow motion, like half of him is underwater and it's taking all the rest of him has to wade his way through.

Augie looks on with a terrifying fascination as the platinum band rolls towards him, coming to a stop only when it hits the top of his slipper clad foot and the twelve-year-old bends down to pick it up.

"This is my Dad's wedding ring," he says, blankly looking up at the myriad of disturbed faces that only seem able to stare back at him, before he returns his gaze to the object lying like a dead weight in the centre of his palm.

He nudges the tiny circle of precious metal over with his index finger, eyeing the other section of writing engraved on the inside, his young face falling into a frown. And Nate can see it as it happens; Augie's not looking at the words for proof that he's right; he doesn't need any help when it comes to identifying that which concerns his family; he's looking for the words to provide some sort of comfort, recollection of a better time. He's trying to conjure the memory of his father fondly rubbing the pad of his thumb across his wedding ring and reciting the words it bears inside, the words that have become embedded in his skin over years of use, the words that hold so much history and promise for the future: all the love he feels for his wife and she for him; what it means to be part of their family.

And Nate knows this, because if it was him he'd be doing the exact same thing.

"Why am I holding my Dad's wedding ring?" Augie slowly poses the question to the room before him, eyes still transfixed on the precious jewel held in his hand.

Time and space and everything that shouldn't have happened, but did, may have passed between them, but he still considers Chuck his best friend. He still thinks of him as his brother and loves him as one too.

Which is why, when his best friend's boy lifts his head and looks up with horrified eyes from the tips of his blood stained fingers to the neat circles of red transferred from his father's wedding ring to the little palm of his hand, Nate steps forward and absorbs his brother's son in his arms.

He expects the struggle that follows, anticipates the screams that fill his eardrums and the tiny fists that batter at his back in swift accompaniment to the spindly legs that strike out at anything they can put force against.

"No! Get off me! Let me go!" Augie's shouts are manic, purposeful, with vigorous punches and kicks to further impress his point. "Let me go! I don't want you! I want him, I don't want you!"

He pulls the boy from the room, still kicking and screaming in his arms, and carries him swiftly from this place; up the stairs to the room the boy no longer calls his own, but resides in anyway.

He sets him down on the bed, but Augie keeps a tight grip on him, arms loops around his neck and head buried into the hollow alcove by his shoulder.

"I don't want you," the boy mumbles into his shirt, his breath hot with the exertion and his face wet with tears. "I want my dad."

"I know," he empathizes with his best friend's son. "I know. So do I."

And they stay like that for several minutes, latched onto one another, trying to take from it what they can.

Lena appears in the doorway and they break apart as she exhales.

"Are you ok?" she urgently asks of her brother, crossing the space to kneel before him, cupping his face between her hands. "What – what happened?"

Words fail the boy; he's lost a sense before, but this is different.

Augie hesitates for but a second, before extending his hand towards his sister and slowly unfurling his fingers to reveal the platinum band that rests there; virtually wiped clean of the blood that could tell a story of its own.

"For you," the boy manages to say. "They sent this for you."

The blood that is absent from their father's ring stains his only son's hand as he offers it up to his older sister.

"They sent this," she repeats, "For me."

And just as Nate witnessed her brother's undoing, had thought he'd seen hers in the dead of night, he realizes that this, right here and now, this might just be the cause of hers.

Her lips part like she has something more to say, but her eyes are widening and soon she's lifting her hands to her face. They're splayed out on her cheeks, criss-crossing her mouth. Keeping the words on her tongue, the tears in her eyes; her breath barely manages to escape through the cracks in her fingers.

"Lena," Carter addresses her, and they all look to see him straddling the line between where they are and where they are not. "You need to come downstairs."

"Now?" she asks, momentarily at a loss for what to do.

The elder seems to pick up on it as he nods, telling her cleanly, "Yes. You need to come downstairs now."

It's not an order, but she'll follow it all the same, follow him.

She straightens, looks from Carter to her brother; they're both waiting for her to make a move.

"You should take it," Augie says then, like any of them really believe it's that simple. "It was meant for you."

"Meant for me," Lena echoes the words; and her eyes shimmer like the edge of the ocean where the surface darkens like a warning you can't see until it's too late, when you lose your footing and sink sink _sink _to the murky depths below.

She nods, tentatively reaching out to lift the ring from where it rests loftily among its markings on her brother's skin. She holds it between her thumb and forefingers, frozen by its presence; and then as quickly as she was beginning to lose her grip and fall, she scrambles back up from the ledge.

This is what makes her a Bass, Nate thinks; this is why they will always unwittingly rest all their hopes on her. She just doesn't know how to quit.

Lena pulls at the chain around her neck, twisting it until the clasps lie at the front and she undoes them to allow her to slip the ring onto her necklace before securing them in place once more and readjusting its position. The ring weighs heavily on its tether, rocking back and forth like a pendulum swinging above her heart; the clock's been ticking for a while now.

"I'll look after it," she promises her brother, "I'll keep it safe."

Augie gifts her with a soft smile and the unwavering belief in his words, "I know you will. It's meant for you."

.

She's sitting by the dining room table, a glass of water sitting in front of her, still fresh enough that the drops of condensation drip from the edge to land on the coaster beneath. She'd insisted; her best friend would never forgive her if she stained the premium wood.

She reaches for it; idly wondering if you can get dehydrated from crying too much, but stops when she looks at her hand. She's still shaking. The tremors run the course of her body making her suddenly realize that the tapping noise she's been hearing since they put her in this room is the sound her chair makes as its legs rise and fall from the floor with the trembling of her frame. It sounds like her bones are rattling within her; and it wouldn't be too far from the truth, given how little she's eaten or slept since this all started.

"Mom," a voice suddenly says and she looks up to see her daughter rushing towards her, "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she manages to say; and it hurts so much to even pretend to admit it, but compared to the others; compared to her best friend, compared to her niece and nephew, compared to _Chuck_, she is fine.

"What happened? Why are you crying?" Hadley asks hurriedly, the worry so foreign and frightening to see on her young, beautiful features. "Oh God, they didn't – they haven't found their _bodies_, have they?"

"No!" she exclaims, immediately putting a stop to her only daughter's train of thought; they can't afford to be thinking like that. Especially not now, not after –

"Then what happened?" her fifteen-year-old asks urgently. "What's got you so upset?"

"I just – " she swallows, closes her eyes and tries to pretend she can no longer see the image of her brother's ring and pinky fingers lying on the purple tissue in the ivory box. "I opened a parcel that wasn't meant for me, and I didn't like what was inside."

"What was it?" her daughter inquires, seemingly unaware of what she's actually asking of her mother.

"It – It was meant to be a message," Serena tells her; because her baby girl doesn't need to hear the details, doesn't need to share in her mother's nightmare. "It wasn't meant to be for me, but it should've been, and I opened it and I was… shocked at what I saw, and it upset me."

Shocked? Try horrified. And upset? Well, she's still yet to stop shaking.

"Oh," her daughter voice's is quiet. "Well, I'm sorry you had to go through that, mom."

"Better me than any of you," she says, and she means it.

She hadn't known Augie was in the room at the time; hadn't known she'd be so shocked at what was inside that she'd drop the parcel altogether and his father's ring would roll across the floor to land at her feet. She hadn't known, hadn't thought, hadn't realized – until it was too late. Until Nate was carrying her distraught nephew up the stairs and her niece was flying up after them a moment after she'd stepped through the door, and Carter was following after Lena mere minutes after checking on her. She feels impossibly guilty and it weighs heavily on her heart; her skeletal framework clattering louder now as if to remind her that she is not built for this; she cannot withstand such pressure.

There's a nagging that refuses to cease, however, that tells her she has never been more successful than when she became a mother. And it's true, she knows it; she may make mistakes and she may still have a lot to make up for in this life; but everything she does is for her children, and she can't imagine how she could ever be judged for only wanting to do the best by her family.

Her daughter leans down and puts her arms around her and Serena tugs Hadley into her lap, rocking her back and forth like she were still but a babe in her mother's embrace. It's a testament to their relationship that the teenager allows it, drops her head to the elder's shoulder, sighs contentedly into the soft wisps of blonde hair so like her own.

And Serena knows it's not fair, knows it's not right, but she does it anyway: she holds her daughter that bit closer, that much tighter, in her arms; just because she can.

.

"I wanted to thank you, for what you did for my brother," Lena says to him when she finds him standing in her parent's room, drinking in every inch of the space that testifies who they were when they stayed here; who they were when he'd still known them.

He turns at her words, notices for possibly the first time just how slender she is, how slim the contours of her face are; catches sight of the evidence in the tiredness of her eyes and the lag of her pant legs as they ruck at her knees that it wasn't always like this, _she _wasn't always like this.

"And to apologise – for my outburst – _before_," she tells him, referring to when she'd schooled him in what it meant to be Chuck Bass nowadays, and how he didn't have a clue anymore. "Regardless of your absence in our lives of late, I know my parents would appreciate you being here. And I know it can't be easy for you, to be around us all after everything that's happened, so for that too, I'd like to thank you."

"You don't – " he starts to say; because she shouldn't feel she has to apologise, she _doesn't _have to apologise. He gets it now, he understands; he hasn't been a part of their lives for so long, it's not fair for him to expect to be now.

"No," she refutes. "I do."

He nods, stays silent; because she's so like her mother it's scary.

"What you did earlier – there aren't… adequate words for what you did for Augie… but I want you to know just how grateful I am."

"You're welcome," he mumbles.

She nods, gives him a small satisfied smile as she heads for the door, but stops when she reaches it.

"I hope you won't get too lost again, when all this is over and everyone goes their separate ways," she says, turning back to face him with what looks like a second chance in her eyes. "I know my parents like it more when you're around rather than off gallivanting across the country – my dad especially, he's always regaling my little brother with tales of the adventures of your youth when he thinks no one else is listening."

He watches the wry smile curve her lips and imagines a similar reaction from Blair during these instances. _So _like her mother.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is: your absence doesn't go by unnoticed. You are Nathaniel Archibald, after all," she tells him, saying his name just like her father does, smiling at the edges like he tends to do too.

He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. There aren't adequate words for what _she's_ doing for him.

"I haven't forgotten, you know," Lena tells him softly, a memory of something he used to be part of showing plainly on her face. "That after my parents, it was my Uncle Nate that I loved most of all."

She closes the door quietly behind her on her way out and Nate collapses on the bed in the room where his best friends used to sleep. And for the first time in a long while, he cries.

.

He watches the rise and fall of their chests; follows the blend of their dark locks until they merge and become two incarnations of the same: two versions of their mother with hints of their father accentuating the edges.

His eyes shift from the arms that lie like protective wings around the little girl to the serene look on the child's face; they will do whatever it takes to shield her from this tragedy that has become their lives.

He feels a presence by his side as he watches over them, his suspicions confirmed as to the shadow's identity when the other man marvels at the sight with words just as awestruck, "I never quite realized just how like her mother she really is, not just in looks."

Carter turns to him with a slight frown. He's long since dropped any grudges he may or may not hold against the man, but that doesn't mean he doesn't find it somewhat disconcerting when Nate attempts to strike up a conversation with him; especially given all that's passed between them without the need for words.

"Lena," he explains his earlier words, as if the elder couldn't decipher that for himself.

"You're right," Carter replies, and there's no malice in his tone and it isn't meant to send a message or a warning, an _incentive_ – or two – or otherwise; he's just making a statement. "She's too forgiving."

He's methodical as he closes the door softly then and turns to walk down the hall; leaving Nate to stand alone and choose his own path, as he's always done.

.

It's barely dawn yet and he's awake; he doesn't know what's wrong with him. He knows Serena and Carter and Eric and everyone in between would tell him it's only natural, especially given the events of the previous day, but he knows that's not it. Cooper won't voice that, of course, because he's not suicidal and besides, it'll only make matters worse. Sure, he's sorry this has all happened to Chuck and Blair and he wouldn't wish the recurring events on their kids either, but it hasn't affected him in the same way it has his sister, for example. He's just not as embroiled in this whole family dynamic that they all pretend plays such a huge role in their lives: and they talk about his dad, they're no better than him, not really. They all just act like they care, but they don't show it. He'll say one thing for the Basses, whether they actually live up to all their hype about being the 'perfect family' or not, even in their absence it's obvious how deeply they all care for one another.

If anything he's a little jealous he's never really had that himself; then again, if this is what happens when love is taken away from you, he's grateful he's never had to experience it.

He imagines that loss has got to be a pretty devastating.

The door's already open, so he doesn't really consider it to be prying. Magdalena is leaning over the bed, tucking her little brother in, but there's something heartbreaking in the action.

"Forgive me, Augie," she whispers softly in the dark. "I'm only doing what they asked of me."

"You're up early," Cooper comments when he catches sight of her, and pauses to lean his weight against the doorframe of her room.

She lifts her head up at his words and offers him a small semblance of a smile when she looks over to find him watching her.

"So, this is where he's been hiding," he comments with a smile of his own and a nod in the direction of the boy curled up asleep in the middle of the bed. "I passed by his room a few times, but he was never there – thought he was avoiding me."

She looks tired, but not in a way that would suggest she's just woken up, more like she's not really been to sleep yet. That would explain a lot.

"He doesn't hate you, you know," Magdalena's voice breaks him from his thoughts.

"I know," he answers, gives her a small reassuring smile; he knows that much about the kid. "He apologized – multiple times."

"My little brother couldn't hate anyone. He doesn't have it in him," she says next, almost to herself.

"And you?" Cooper asks, and this time it is him who is breaking her from her reverie. "Could you ever hate someone?"

She turns her gaze from the world outside to him and something flickers in her eyes, passes by her face, which he can't place.

"Ask me tomorrow," she says softly, and her eyes are suddenly a darker blue than he thinks he's ever seen them, a black hole staring back at him.

"Why tomorrow?" his brow is furrowed, because he is genuinely confused; she's making no sense. He wonders if it's the lack of sleep.

"Because that's when I'll know if my parents are still alive," Magdalena tells him, in an eerily grave voice that speaks of a world he will never understand.

And because he simply doesn't understand, he offers her something else instead.

"I'd hate them too," he says quietly, secretly afraid to speak; he's trying to empathize all the same, though he doubts he ever could.

"If they're not alive, I'll know I shouldn't always listen to my father," she responds, continuing on from her own words, rather than his and there's the mark of a mirthless laugh on her lips.

"Your father? What? I don't understand," Cooper finally puts voice to what he's feeling: because if it were him, he'd save his hatred for the one responsible for the abduction, for all the pain and suffering; not the victim.

Then again, he doesn't think he's never really been on the same wavelength as his cousin; as any of them, in fact.

"Ask me tomorrow," she repeats, expands enough to say, "And if I tell you yes, then you'll know I hate myself more than I could ever hate another person or thing on this earth or beyond."

He frowns at her, because he still doesn't understand, and it's starting to get more than a little frustrating to see everyone work so hard to receive so little in return. As if the only people that could ever help the Bass family belong to the family itself; as if they alone can determine the outcome of their lives.

"If I tell you yes, I'll have killed my own parents," Magdalena tells him, and there's resolute belief in her words that seem to emanate from her very core. "And how could anyone ever love me after doing such a thing?"

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: I think the start of Carter's section, where he's watching Viv and Lena sleep is inspired by a line from a Jodi Picoult novel, but I can't find it right now to source it properly, so you'll just have to take my vague word on it, sorry.

This chapter ended up being majorly long, so I split it in two and added some extra sections into the other part so hopefully it won't be too long before I update again.

Thank you to all of you who've read thus far, I hope you continue to do so, and if it takes your fancy, drop me a line or two to let me know your thoughts  
Steph  
xxx


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